Measure of a Man
by nej47
Summary: Sequel to Deanzilla! On top of demons, angels and even Sam, Dean must also struggle with his new giant powers. To add insult to injury, the key to controlling them is an affront to his no-chick-flick-moments male pride.
1. Intentions and Deceptions

**Measure of a Man**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_ or its awesome characters, no matter how much I wish I could.

**Summary: **Sequel to Deanzilla vs. Hydros. Post ep 4.16. Sam doubts him. The angels use him. The demons mock him for breaking in Hell. Dean has been pushed to the brink. Unfortunately, his giant problems push back.

**A/N: **Hey everyone! If you're following me from Deanzilla, welcome back! If you're a newbie, you absolutely have to read that story before you read this one. Sorry, dem's da rules. Otherwise you'll be completely lost.

As in DZ, this story is set in season 4, although this sequel is later in the season, right after ep 4.16, "On the Head of a Pin." But I'm cautioning for spoilers for ALL of season 4, as I will be going slightly AU in this one. It'll be the usual mix of crack and angst, though more angst this time, I'm afraid. Rated T for language. Thanks and thanks and gravy thanks to Katiki for her always amazing beta work. And away we go…

* * *

**Chapter One: Intentions and Deceptions**

_La Crosse, WI _

_11:58 p.m._

The Winchester brothers sit on a dusty chaise lounge in an equally dusty house, waiting for the boogeyman they've been hunting for the past four days. It has already kidnapped six kids. Dean and Sam are going to make sure it ends tonight.

Sam sits like a human rabbit: ears perked, eyes sharp, long legs ready to jump into action. Dean, on the other hand, is a dog in a pound: fierce, tense, and shaking. Sweating, too. Sam knows his brother isn't afraid—far from it. Dean's been stabbing his silver blade at the air all day in preparation for the real deal at midnight. But he has been shaking often the last few days—in the car, at motels, even at breakfast that morning. Just…shaking, jaw clenched and fists shut tight, like he's riding out some sort of private pain. Sam knows he has to confront him about it. Of course, he also knows what answer (read: brush off) he'll get if he bothers.

The antique clock ticks over—one minute to midnight. Dean sees it too and gets his blade ready, only to huddle over his knees, shaking even harder than before.

"Dean…"

"Sam, if you ask me if I'm okay one more time, I'll shove this knife down your throat."

"Didn't know you were into that sort of thing."

"Funny."

The temperature in the room drops, and the boys get up and move to their positions in opposite corners of the room: Sam by the huge, green marble fireplace, Dean by the ornate bookshelves. The boogeyman has been grabbing local kids from their beds and vanishing with them through their closets. They only discovered where he disappeared to out of sheer luck: Sam was wrestling with it at a different house the night before and got thrown into the closet. He caught a glimpse of the very fireplace he's standing next to through a portal behind the children's clothes, just before the creature grabbed him again and threw him back out. A quick Web check of local history and green marble fireplaces brought up this Victorian house-turned-historical site just outside of La Crosse, and the guys found all six kids in the basement, miraculously still alive.

"Probably keeping them all for Sunday dinner," Dean quipped morbidly. "Sick bastard."

Dean had wanted to take the kids home right away, but Sam argued, sadly, that they had to stay put for now. Dean was livid, but Sam reminded him that they were setting a trap. "And if it finds out all the kids it took were returned, it won't come back here. It'll probably skip town and go find other kids, Dean." Dean had conceded Sam's point, but he insisted on being the one to tell the kids they couldn't go home yet. Sam didn't know what hurt more after that: hearing the kids cry, or seeing the destroyed look on Dean's face when he came back up the stairs.

"I'm killing that son of a bitch tonight, Sam," he growled. "Count on it."

Now both brothers watch as the clock ticks over, and the chimes start dinging out the time. Midnight. Somewhere in La Crosse, the boogeyman is entering a little kid's bedroom. Sam and Dean get ready. A minute passes by. Then two. Dean whispers "Come on already," and the closet door flies open. The guys press into the shadows as it walks in, a squat monster carrying a little boy and girl in its overlong arms. Razor-sharp teeth grin down at them from an impish face covered in mangy dark hair, and it kicks the door shut with its bare, hairy foot. The kids scream, and the beast snarls back.

"Not today, Frodo."

No sooner are Dean's words out that Sam shoots the thing in its foot. It screeches in pain and the kids scramble free. Sam grabs the kids as Dean tackles the boogeyman from behind. The creature rebounds and chucks Dean through the canopy bed posts. Sam starts to head back, but Dean gets to his feet and glares at him with urgency. "Go, GO! Stick to the plan!" So Sam carries the kids downstairs and outside to the Impala, unlocking the door with frantic fingers so they can join the other kids already waiting inside. The children are freaked out, and Sam does his best to calm them down and keep them quiet, trying not to shudder every time he hears a thud or swear from inside the house.

_Okay, so Frodo's been working out, _Dean thinks as he gets thrown to the floor. The short monster is a lot stronger than it looks, and its stupidly long arms can grab Dean no matter how far away he is. Grabby hands clutch his shirt, so Dean stabs his silver knife into the left arm. The boogeyman screams as blood sizzles out of the wound, and it uses its free arm to slam Dean clear through the floor and into the kitchen downstairs. The arms reach through the hole to grab him again, but this time something grabs the boogeyman instead. Tugged down into the kitchen, it comes face to face with a bigger version of the hunter it was just fighting. Dean has let himself grow a few feet. The creature looks confused, and Dean smirks at it as he holds it up by its long arms.

"Yeah, I only do this as a last resort," he explains as he smacks the boogeyman against the wall. "Didn't really need to today, but the kids you kidnapped are scared and hungry, so I figured I'd better hurry up," he slams it on its back on the floor, "and end you." Sam comes into the kitchen just as Dean plunges his silver knife through the boogeyman's heart. The monster shrieks, glass bursting all around them from the noise, until it melts from its own sizzling blood into a mushy, hairy mess. Dean, still eight feet tall, takes his knife back and walks over to the sink to wash it off.

"The kids all right?" he asks Sam over his shoulder.

"Yeah, they're all outside. Come back down and we'll take them home."

Dean nods and, following his brother out into the front room, releases his control so that he can normalize again. Instead, he grows another foot. "What the—?" they ask together. Dean tries again, and his head hits the high, 12-foot ceiling. He groans in pain, clenching at his stomach, and falls to his knees, still growing.

"Dean?! What's going on?" Sam shouts.

Big, scared green eyes look at him. "I don't know!" Dean grows again. "I can't stop!"

Then Dean expands so fast that Sam can't even comprehend it. He hears Dean yell at him to get out, but a huge knee covers the front door before Sam gets there. Dean is shaking again, and the old house shakes with him. His back bursts through the second floor, destroying the hole the boogeyman made and taking the bedroom with him. "SAM?!" Dean cries, trying to see where his brother could be, but new, sharp pain shuts his eyes tight. Bigger and bigger...his knees push through the staircase and it collapses into his lap. The furniture slides into the walls as Dean's body demands more room, kicking up so much dust that he has to fight a sneeze. Then CRASH! Dean's head bursts through the roof, showering the yard with shingles and old timber. Dean shifts his shoulders, trying to find his brother, and as he moves, the entire house falters, crumbling into ruin. His pain eases up at last, but Dean is too fraught with worry to notice. The kids are screaming somewhere close by; Dean prays he didn't hurt them on his way 'up.' Once the dust clears and the commotion dies down, Dean sifts through the mess with his gigantic hands.

"No...no, please be okay..." He hears a small cough, and he lifts a section of the roof off. Sam is on his back, so covered in sawdust that he looks bleached. Dean carefully picks him up and blows the dust off the little body. His brother is no bigger than the length of his palm.

"Sammy?" Dean asks gently. "You still with me?" Sam coughs again, so Dean rolls him over onto his side and holds him there with a finger. Sam holds onto the big finger and sits up, coughing a few more times as he brushes plaster out of his hair.

"Can't—_cough!_—take you anywhere," Sam rasps.

Dean grins with relief. "You okay?"

"Think so. Head kinda hurts."

"Headache or concussion?"

Sam squints up at him as he brings a hand over the swelling bump on his head. "You hit me with your elbow," he grumbles.

"Shit, I'm sor—"

"And then your elbow pushed me through a closet full of mothballs. And THEN the closet and mothballs collapsed on top of me." Sam spits off the side of Dean's hand; his tongue is as dusty as the rest of him. Then he looks up and into Dean's apologetic face, and Sam's concern takes over. "What happened, Dean? Why couldn't you stop?"

"I don't know," Dean answers in truth. "I just…it hurt all over, and…" He shakes his head, as frustrated as he is flummoxed, and looks away.

"It hurt?" Sam repeats—he can't believe Dean just admitted he was in pain. Dean gives him a little nod. "Does it…are you still hurt?" This time he gets no answer, and Dean won't look at him. "Dean?"

"The kids are gone." Dean sets Sam on the ground at once, his eyes never leaving the spot where the porch used to be. "I heard them screaming…you don't think—"

"They're fine, Dean," Sam swears, and Dean looks down to him. "I locked them all in the car. See?" He points, and Dean looks. Several pairs of terrified eyes are staring at him, little mouths open in abject fear. Dean turns away and starts to stand up.

"Take them home, Sam." Dean hears the kids screaming again as he straightens to his full height, so he keeps his head down and his eyes on his shoes. "I've got a big night ahead of me."

Big Night—the most literal codeword they've ever used—tells Sam to wait for a phone call from Dean once he's found a place to lay low until he gets back to normal. The giant steps over what's left of the house. Sam unlocks the Impala and gets behind the wheel.

"Hurry up! Monster's gonna get us!" a little girl shouts in his ear. Sam winces as he starts the car.

"The monster's dead."

"Not that monster, THAT one!" She points past Sam's nose at the retreating giant. Sam sees Dean flinch and knows his brother heard that.

"He isn't a monster," Sam informs them. "He's my brother, and he just SAVED all you."

"Yeah, and then he nearly killed us by bringing the house down," a slightly older boy grumps.

Sam sighs. _There's gratitude for you. _He turns the Impala onto the road and guns the gas. Dean keeps walking in the other direction, head down and teeth gritted.

_Way to fuck up again, Dean._

Dean has always been hard on himself. It's second nature to him. Two rules have defined his life since childhood: never let people down, EVER, and no mistakes allowed, PERIOD. John had probably only meant them as rules for hunting, but he never bothered to tell that to his eldest; Dean took them as Gospel. Spilling milk was just as bad as forgetting extra ammo. Being slow in getting the chores done was akin to being too slow to save someone. Giving 100% was not nearly enough—it was 200 minimum or don't bother. Dean's creed was branded on his heart long before he ever went on his first hunt. And making himself abide by such impossible standards only made his self-doubt worse.

Lately, Dean's inner critic has been downright merciless. Nothing he does is good enough, not on hunts and especially not with taking care of Sam, and his failure weighs on him like heavy chains, dragging him down and holding him back. And Dean knows exactly why. Like he'd ever let himself forget:

_You broke in Hell. You tortured souls and brought on the end of the world. And all because you failed. You're a FAILURE, Dean. Always have been, always will be. _

The thoughts crush him as much as they anger him to the point of wanting to prove himself. _Why bother? Sam was right, _he thinks in both grief and bitter self-loathing, _you ARE weak. You ARE pathetic. It's a fucking miracle he even talks to you anymore. How can he stand to be in the same room with you? It's no wonder he sneaks out all the time. _

Dean ignores the tears he can feel forming and tries to focus on the moon, but his dark thoughts refuse to be silenced. _Just think how Sammy's gonna freak when he learns who broke the first seal. Well, if you ever grow a pair and TELL him, Chickenshit. _Dean shuts his eyes as his shoulders droop from the impossible weight he carries. After all, having a demon tell you that you started the Apocalypse, and then having an angel tell you hey, you broke it, you fix it—that's a pretty damn heavy load. But Dean bears it—just adds it to the top of the humongous pile of problems he's carried his entire life, struggling to hold the teetering tower level and keep himself moving. But it's getting harder and harder every day.

And the giant thing? Yeah, so not helping.

He'd followed the advice he got from Meesh to the letter at first: two nights a week, he'd let himself grow and sleep outside. Sam stayed with him every time, tucked in to Dean's shirt pocket and snoring away. It wasn't easy to maintain that schedule, what with seals breaking and hunts demanding their time and attention, not to mention both angels and demons on their backs. But for the first two months, they did their best. Dean was slowly starting to gain control over his powers, able to grow when he wanted and, most importantly, go back to normal with relative ease.

But then the siren happened. And everything changed when Dean heard what his brother really thought about him. Sure, Sam's said he's sorry, but Dean knows he doesn't mean it. Dean spoke the truth to Sam, after all. He knows in his gut that Sam did likewise, and all the siren venom did was loosen his lips.

Things have been tense since then. Sam is still talking to Ruby and keeping secrets from Dean, even though he knows how much Dean hates that he does both of those things. So Dean has been pushing them to take on as many hunts as possible, partly to keep Sam too busy to run off with that demon bitch, but mostly to prove to Sam—to EVERYone—that Dean Winchester is NOT weak and is NOT pathetic and is still the most badass hunter around.

Even if Dean himself has stopped believing that.

So a busier schedule has meant less and less time to deal with Dean's little growing problem. He went from having his Big Night twice a week to once, then to once every other week, until he finally just stopped having them. The shaking started in soon after that—a trembling that began in his fingers and soon raced through the rest of him, flooding his body with adrenaline. Dean would channel the energy into his hunts, but soon even that wasn't enough. This urge was building up inside him: a literally painful need to change, to grow, to get OUT. But he forced it down, just like it was any other pain or worry. He had people to save and a brother to protect, and as always, their needs came before his own.

But the shakes got worse, no matter how hard he tried to control them. And tonight…well, Dean still isn't sure how it happened, but when he let himself grow a few feet, it was like a crack in a dam. Energy rushed through him, and when Dean tried to fight it, he got hit by pain. The energy pushed back and soon the entire dam failed as Dean grew and grew and grew. Now he's stuck at 60ish feet tall. His usual tricks to force himself back to normal (first concentrating, then ignoring, then distracting) have failed, and Dean is still struggling to shrink when the Impala's engine rumbles into earshot, Sam following Dean's text messaged instructions to get to the bluff under which he is hiding.

The Impala drives up on top of the bluff and parks in front of the Scenic Overlook sign. Sam skips the moonlit view and peers over the edge. His brother's head is resting just a few feet below. Dean lifts his hand up and Sam steps on without a word—they've done this a million times before, after all, and the weirdness factor wore off long ago. Sam sits down in the big palm as Dean brings him in front of his face.

"Kids get back okay?" Dean asks just to make conversation. Sam yawns and nods.

"Yeah. Dropped them all off at the hospital just to be safe. Got out of there before the police arrived." Sam looks up at him. "How are you?"

"Oh just duckie," he mutters. "Couldn't be happier." Sam gives him a tired glare, and Dean drops the sarcasm. "I'm fine. Big," he looks himself over, "kinda headachy, but fine. Let's get some sleep."

Turning to the side, Dean lies down on his back and lifts Sam to his chest. Sam walks over to his usual spot on the left hand shirt pocket—well, jacket pocket this time around—and crawls in. Dean yawns a goodnight to his little brother. Sam sighs in reply.

"Dean, I've been thinking…"

"Dangerous habit," Dean quips, keeping his eyes shut. He feels a little, bitchy glare on him, so Dean frowns. "What's on your mind, Sammy?"

"Maybe…you should take a break."

Dean's eyes snap open. "What?"

"You've been pushing yourself for weeks, Dean. You barely sleep, you don't eat—"

"What? I still eat!"

"Not like you used to," Sam says evenly. "And now this…whatever it was that happened tonight...I think it's your body's way of saying Slow Down."

Dean sits up on his elbows and looks down at his brother. "Yeah, all right Sammy, I'll take a break. Find a hammock, drink something with an umbrella in it, and have a nap. I'm sure the Apocalypse will stop itself."

"Dean…"

"Lilith will just give up on the seals, the angels will go bug someone else for a while…everything'll be just swell."

"I'll still be out there, Dean!" Sam says, voice rising in anger.

Dean gives a slow nod. "Oh that's what this is about. You want to cut me loose."

"I didn't say that."

"Don't need your weak, pathetic brother holding you back anymore."

Sam sighs again. "How many more times do I need to apologize for saying that?"

"Till you meant it," Dean murmurs.

"I DO mean it."

"Do you?" Dean challenges, staring him down. Sam stands up to better look him in the eye.

"All I want is for you to give yourself a break, Dean. That's all. I don't want you to stop hunting, and I don't want to hunt without you. But I DO want you to take care of yourself. Okay?" Dean rolls his eyes, so Sam stomps his foot on Dean's clavicle. "OKAY?"

"OW, yeah, fine, okay, whatever!" Both brothers bring hands to their aching heads, and both note the other's pain and concern. Neither one of them says anything though. Dean just lies back down, and Sam goes back to the shirt pocket and follows suit. Both pairs of eyes close on yet another touchy conversation. It seems to be the norm more than the exception these days.

* * *

_Later that night, around 2 a.m..._

Sam wakes up when his phone vibrates against his hip. He slips the phone out for a look, but it doesn't buzz again. He looks at the number at the top of the Missed Call screen and gets to his feet at once. His eyes go up to his brother's huge face as he stands completely still, waiting for any tell that his brother is awake. But Dean sleeps on, oblivious to his stirring brother. Sam jumps off the giant chest and freezes again, watching the slumbering giant. He waits an entire minute just to be safe before he runs off, rounding the bottom of the bluff and moving close to the woods. Only then does he finally return the call.

"What is it?" he asks before she can even say hello. He paces as she explains what's going on. "Now? Why can't I wait till—?" She cuts him off, and he nods while his free hand rubs his forehead. "I can't," he tells her. "I have…I WANT to stay with Dean." She sasses something back. "It wasn't his fault!" She hits him with some hard facts, and Sam heaves out a long breath as he looks at his watch. "Yeah. YEAH, fine, all right. But we have to be back before dawn." He looks back toward the bluff. "And we are NOT doing this again," he mutters. She hangs up, and so does he, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. His guilt and his sense of duty vie for control of the situation, each of them telling Sam what he should do. Ultimately he just shakes his head. "You won't even know I'm gone," he whispers, and then he turns and runs for the trail that leads back to the road at the top of the bluff.

Not far away, Dean blinks his eyes. "Like hell I won't," he whispers back, having heard the whole thing. A few minutes later, a car creeps up, and he hears Sam get in. Dean sits up straight once they've gone and watches the taillights disappear from view. The usual disappointment's there, of course. So is the annoyance at the lie he knows Sam will give him once he's back. It's become routine, and it pisses Dean off to no end.

He stands up and decides to save Sam the trouble of coming up with an excuse.

* * *

_Soon after sun-up, around 6 a.m._

Sam is practically squirming in the passenger seat of Ruby's car. "Will you calm down?" she both asks and tells him. "You look like someone put scorpions in your underpants."

"The sun is up and we're not there," he says through his teeth. "I TOLD you we had to be back before sunrise!"

"Hey, it isn't my fault the demon didn't go peacefully. How was I supposed to know it had that much fight in it?"

"Because YOU'RE a demon."

"Yeah, thanks, Sam, didn't need reminding." Ruby pulls the car to a stop at the end of the road that leads to the bluff. Sam gets out at once but keeps himself from slamming the door like he wants to. Instead he leans down and uses the side mirror to make sure he doesn't have any blood on his face.

"You're fine, Sam," she assures him. "Your little secret's still safe. I'll never tell." She winks, and Sam stands away from the car. She turns the car around and takes off, leaving Sam behind to make that long walk up that short road. He knows a pissed off and possibly still giant Dean will be waiting for him. The cover story begins to form in his mind immediately.

_I thought I heard something, Dean. The kind of something we hunt. No I didn't wake you—I didn't want to bother you till I knew if it was a threat or not. _Sam shakes his head, hating himself for being able to picture the whole conversation. The lies come so easily to him now. _God knows I've had practice, _he berates himself. But he has no choice in the matter: Dean will never accept Ruby, and Sam cannot let Lilith win. Not ever. He has to kill her, and Sam has to do whatever it takes to get to her.

_Even drinking demon blood, _his inner voice sings. Sam pretends he can't still detect the copper aftertaste on his palate, and that his body isn't still thrumming with power. _Are the lies really worth it, Sammy? _his conscience asks him now. _Do you enjoy your secret double life? Cos if you're not careful, your secret life will be your only life. Dean isn't going to look the other way forever._

_I'm doing this for Dean! _he thinks back with angry justification. _ALL of it! _

_How does snacking on demon blood help Dean, exactly?_

Sam forces himself to look at his surroundings in order to quiet the noise in his head. He approaches the edge of the cliff...readies himself for a yelling…and looks down.

Dean isn't there.

"Dean?" Sam looks around and notices that the Impala is gone as well. "Dean?!" Sam gets his phone out at once, heart and mind already racing with dread and worst case scenarios. Dean's phone rings through to voice mail. "Dean, it's me. Where are you? I—" Sam cuts himself off before he lies that he woke up to find Dean gone, just in case Dean already knows. "Just call me when you get this, okay?"

Sam hangs up and dials Bobby. He knows it's early and he knows how cranky Bobby will be, but this can't wait. Bobby picks up. "Bobby, hey, sorry to call, but it's—"

"He's fine, Sam."

Sam blinks. "What?"

"Dean. He's here."

Sam can't believe what he's hearing. "What?!" he can't help but ask again.

"Yeah, strolled into the yard about fifteen minutes ago. Woke me up when he set the Impala down and lounged out behind the house. Didn't say much except to tell you he's fine if you called. I was just about to fall back asleep when you woke me up—thanks for that."

"Sorry," Sam says absently, still trying to wrap his head around what he's just learned. "So you're saying that Dean…walked to your house?"

"Looks like it. His legs are long enough…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Just have to find a car to borrow."

"Take your time," Bobby yawns. "Not like either of us is goin' anywhere…"

Sam pockets his phone and glares at the world. _When I get to Bobby's, I'm so kicking Dean's giant ass…_

* * *

A little before ten that morning, a maroon pick-up truck pulls into Singer's Salvage Yard. Sam gets out of the cab and storms around the side of the house. He sees the Impala first, and then, just behind her, a wall of green cotton. "DEAN!" he yells. The wall of green cotton wrinkles as the giant is startled awake. Sam stands fuming as Dean's torso and head slowly sit up.

"Mornin' sunshine," Dean drawls.

"You left."

"Wuh?"

"You LEFT, Dean! What were you thinking? How could you do that to me?!"

"Oh that's rich, coming from you." Dean rolls his back down until he's leaning against the back of Bobby's house. "Like your double standards, don't you Sammy?"

Sam crosses his arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean hits him with a 'really?' look and licks his lips. "It's just funny that it's perfectly okay for you to sneak off in the middle of the night all the time, but the one time I do the leaving, suddenly it's a federal offense."

Sam is flattened by the words; he struggles to come up with a reply, but he knows there's nothing to say. Dean rubs a hand over his sleepy eyes. "Don't bother giving me your cover story bullshit," he murmurs. "Just put some coffee on, or let me get some more sleep. Or both. I don't care."

Dean lets his eyes rest as he readjusts how he's leaning against the house. He listens to Sam's footsteps in the gravel, and then the door to Bobby's house open and creak shut. Only then does Dean allow himself the tiniest of smirks.

_Now you know how it feels, little brother._

He wishes he could enjoy his little victory, but it only makes him feel worse.

* * *

**A/N Additional: **Told you there'd be more angst, but I promise, there will also be crackitude ahead :) Also, PeaceJoJo already made a manip for this story. Check my profile to see her awesome pic!


	2. The Great Divide

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N:** I'm extremely sorry for the severe posting delay. I've been pretty depressed lately, and it wreaks havoc on my creativity. But I'm here now :)

Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm thrilled that people have joined me for another ride in the DZ universe :) And thank you times eleventy-one to Katiki for being simply awesome and to PeaceJoJo for all the amazing manips for this chapter!

Have I put in a warning yet that there's a lot of angst coming up in this story? Well I'm saying it again just in case—people, there be ANGST a-comin'. Grab a pillow and some chocolate before you proceed.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Great Divide**

Sam walks into Bobby's house, letting the screen door smack him on the ass. Not much of a blow as far as punishment goes, but it's a start. Sam will handle the self-flagellation from here on out, thank you.

_So it finally happened, _his inner voice supplies. _Just HAD to sneak out on him one more time, and now he gave you a taste of your own medicine. And YOU were pissed at HIM for leaving! That's a slam dunk for selfishness right there. Way to go, way to be, Sam. Why don't you go out there and tell him how weak and useless he is, while you're at it? Kick him when he's down—you're so good at that, after all. That and lying to him, sneaking out on him, spending more time with a demon than Dean these days… Ever think of changing your name to Benedict Arnold?_

All this before he takes his jacket off.

The house groans as Dean lifts away from the back wall. Soon the kitchen window is filled in with green cotton as he lies back down behind the house. "Eat something, Sammy," Dean says softly from outside. "You look like shit warmed over."

And Dean's concern makes Sam feel even worse. Sam left him—left him HOW many times now?—and Dean still cares.

_Oh yeah?_ a part of him can't help but challenge._ So why'd he ditch you? _

_Because you ditched him first, _the inner voice replies. _And he's had enough._

_We're only trying to save the world here. So sue us. Dean can't do what we can, so we're stepping up. We're the strong ones now. We'll do the protecting. Our actions are justified!_

_Well, Mr. Justified, why don't you tell Dean that? Oh wait, that's right, you already did. And that went over so well…_

"Stop it," Sam whispers, knuckles rubbing temples in a desperate attempt to quiet the inner argument. The voices shush, but the torn feeling remains. It's no wonder that the two sides of him have developed voices and are vying for control: Sam has been a house divided for months now, even before Dean came back from Hell. And it's killing him.

His eyelids droop, nudging Sam in sleep's direction, but he gets up to make coffee instead. He has nightmares to avoid, after all. Sometimes he dreams about looking in the mirror and having yellow eyes—just seconds before Dean shoots him with the Colt. Other times, it's Sam biting into Dean's arm and pinning him down, greedily drinking his blood until his heart stops, and Sam's red, wet teeth grin down at their handiwork. But there is one nightmare that likes to torture him with replays more than any other: the night the hellhounds came for Dean. The night Sam had to watch, helpless, _useless_, as his brother was shredded in front of him. The nightmare—the memory—always ends the same, with Sam holding Dean's corpse and sobbing, while all the important people in his life pop in to brand him a Failure. Bobby. Dad. Jessica. Ellen. Mom. They all crucify him with their words until Sam wakes up.

When it's quiet, like now, he can hear them still. Failure. He didn't take his knife back, so Jake took it instead and killed him. Failure. Dean sold his soul to bring Sam back. He shouldn't have done it, and he never would've done it if Sam had just picked up the damn knife. Failure. He couldn't save Dean because he wasn't strong enough. Failure. Dean went to Hell for him, was tortured for 40 years, and Sam couldn't get him out. Failure after failure, and Dean had to pay for all of Sam's mistakes. Sam couldn't live with that.

He still can't.

So when Ruby showed him a way to get some revenge, the anger inside him champed at the bit and sunk its teeth into her lessons, and later, her blood. The part of him that knew that the demon blood was sick and wrong tried to speak up, but Sam pushed it down further and further with each successful exorcism. Finally he was strong and he could fucking DO something that would make a difference in this awful world. He was in control now, and when he was done, Lilith was going to pay dearly for what she'd done to his brother.

But then his brother came back. And Sam had to face what he'd become, as seconds before Dean came through that motel room door, Sam had been in the bathroom, washing the blood from his face. His conscience voiced its relief, knowing that Dean would get Sam back on track. But his powerful, anger-fueled side was incensed that he wasn't the one to save Dean, and worse, that Sam the Mighty might have to go back to being Sam the Sidekick now that big brother was back. The arguments in Sam's head started that very day. Sam was torn between doing what was right by Dean's standards and Sam's new "the end justifies the means" philosophy. He did give up the demon blood for a while, but as more and more seals broke and the world became that much more dismal and dangerous, Sam knew he had to step up again. Prove to everyone that he wasn't little Sammy anymore—he was SAM, strong and capable. Exorcising the demons in secret helped in the big battle plan, and their intel led Sam closer to Lilith inch by inch.

And STILL, he doubts himself. He's drinking demon blood for Chrissakes! Nothing about that is right. And if Dean ever finds out…

_He won't, _Sam tells himself. _He CAN'T. He nearly left when he saw you using your powers. He'll leave for good if he learns about the blood._

_He already left, _his inner voice reminds him. _Last night. Pretty good warning if you ask me._

Sam's angry-and-justified side flares up. _How were we supposed to know he'd walk to Bobby's? Dean ALWAYS lays low on Big Nights!_

_And you used to always stay with him, Sam! He needs you on those nights—you know that! And you used to want to stay with him, too, just to make sure he was okay. Apparently you've forgotten about nearly losing him in Chicago, cos last night you were only too happy to get away with Ruby. Pretending to have regret—_

"It wasn't pretending," Sam mutters at the coffee pot. "I didn't want to leave him!"

_Then why did you?_

A simple question, and Sam finds he's at a loss to answer it. He doesn't want to face what the truth will say about himself.

"You think too loud," comes a gruff voice. Sam looks up as Bobby enters the kitchen. "I was having a decent dream for once, and then those grinding gears in yer head woke me up. Thanks."

Sam fights a smile. "Sorry. I'll, uh…work on that."

"Yeah. Do that." Bobby opens the fridge and takes out the eggs. "So? You want to tell me what happened?"

"I don't want to, no." Sam suffers a look from Bobby, and he knows that he has to spill. "I had somewhere I needed to go last night," he says in truth.

Bobby cracks an egg over the frying pan. "Uh-huh. And I'm guessing Ruby was there waiting for you."

"She said it was urgent."

"So urgent she couldn't just tell you over the phone?"

The house groans again; both men know Dean is pressed in and listening. "I didn't want to go, but I had to," is all Sam will say. He goes over to the radio and turns it on. "Misunderstanding" by Genesis plays out. "You need sleep too," Sam says to the green window. Turning back to Bobby, he amends, "Music helps him relax."

"I know." Bobby gestures to Sam to turn up the volume. Then he cracks a few more eggs as Sam gets some mugs out of the cabinet. "You know the drill, Sam. Start with the phone call. What'd Ruby say was so damn urgent?"

Sam glances at the window, knowing the music will drown out their conversation. It has every time before. And God help him, there have been too many times before…

_Funny how the lying and sneaking around has become routine, huh Sammy? _the inner voice murmurs.

_We wouldn't have to lie and sneak around if Dean would just accept us for who we are, _Justified throws back.

Sam pours the coffee and turns away from the window as the bickering starts anew.

* * *

Bobby leaves just after noon-thirty on a salvage pickup, leaving Sam alone in the house and Dean sleeping outside. Well, pretending to sleep, anyway. In truth, Dean hasn't been able to catch a wink since Sam arrived; his stupid brain keeps fast forwarding through lyrics and movie trivia and what happened last night, no matter how many times Dean tells it to shut the hell up. So shortly after Bobby's truck rolls out of the yard, Dean gives up the fight for sleep and gets to his feet, stretching his arms and back out high over the house. Then he thuds toward the creek in the nearby woods for a badly-needed pee break.

Dean is sore all over. It hasn't hurt him to grow for a long time now, and yet last night, with that weird urge to get bigger that he had to fight, it hurt like hell. Dean rolls his shoulders and moves his head around to work out the kinks in his neck. His back and knees demand attention as well, but when he arrives at the creek and unzips, they understand they'll just have to wait. Dean hisses as he relieves himself.

_It even hurts to pee? What the fuck?_ He thinks back to the last time he had sex, wondering if he got an unwelcome souvenir, but decides against it. One, he would've felt it before now, and two, the last person he slept with was Anna—an ANGEL. _And angels don't get enough tail to have STDs, _he smirks as he finishes up. Then his smirk fades as he realizes something. _Anna? Really? No one since Anna? _He zips back up and sighs. "Really HAVE been busy. And not in the good way."

He hears a familiar fluttering of wings, and he looks around for Castiel, but doesn't see him.

"Hello Dean."

The words come from right next to his ear, and Dean finds Castiel sitting on his shoulder, gazing out at the world instead of the giant head right next to him. Dean grins at him.

"Angel on my shoulder," Dean remarks. "Ain't that the truth." He looks at Castiel and asks, "So where's the other guy?"

Castiel turns his little blue eyes to Dean's giant green ones. "What other guy?"

"You know," Dean motions to his free shoulder, "the little devil dude!"

The angel frowns in deep confusion. "There is no little…devil dude."

"Forget it." Dean looks around for a tree to lean against, but none of them look strong enough, so he remains standing. His back groans at him, so Dean holds his arms up and stretches out some more.

"You're big again."

Dean glances at the angel. "Figured that out all by yourself, didja?"

"And you're in pain."

"It's nothing, Cas, don't worry about it." Dean drops his arms and offers his friend a smile. He isn't at all surprised when Cas doesn't smile back.

"My superiors are concerned, Dean. They fear that if you don't get your ability under control, that you will hurt our cause."

Dean smirks and nods, but feels Castiel's stare on him and looks at the little angel. "Oh I'm sorry, I'm supposed to care?"

"Yes, Dean. You should care."

"Well I don't. Sorry, Cas, but I've got enough on my plate right now." Castiel looks confused again. "It's a figure of speech," Dean explains before Cas asks. "It means I'm dealing with a lot and I have to take care of that stuff first."

"Such as your giant problem," Castiel nods, understanding now.

Dean sighs. "Yeah. Like my giant problem." He walks them over to the old railroad bridge near the woods. It straddles a small ravine, its tracks almost nonexistent thanks to all the iron it has provided Bobby over the years. Dean has spent a lot of time here over the past few months: it's become his Alone Spot, a place where he can go away and feel like himself again, no matter what his size. Castiel remains on his shoulder as Dean rests his back against the bridge and sits down. The two just sit there for a few moments, breathing in the pleasant smells of early spring.

"It's quiet here," Castiel comments to Dean, who smiles.

"Yeah. Nice. Peaceful."

"You are fortunate to have such a place. To not be at constant war." Castiel stands up on Dean's shoulder, and Dean frowns.

"I am at constant war," Dean murmurs. Castiel doesn't call him on it, and Dean is grateful. "C'mon, Cas, don't you have some quiet place you can fly off to for a few minutes and rest?"

"Angels do not require rest."

"Yeah but you're stressed out to the nines. Can't you just, I don't know…pop up to Heaven and get a moment's peace?"

Castiel's eyes grow sad. "Heaven is not a peaceful place these days."

"I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault."

Dean smiles. "I know. Sometimes just saying you're sorry is your way of saying hey, man, I get it. I know what you're going through, and it sucks."

Castiel nods as he contemplates this. "Then I am sorry that you are in pain and that you have so much on your plate."

Dean nods. "Thanks, Cas." He takes a deep breath and blows it out. "So, out with it. Why are your superiors' feathers in a bunch over my growing pains?"

"They are concerned that you won't be able to handle your brother."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Castiel puts his arms behind his back and settles into a short pace along Dean's shoulder. "I told you that Sam was heading down a dangerous road. You kept him from venturing further for a while, but now…"

"Now what?" Dean turns his head when Castiel doesn't answer him and peers into the little face. "Cas?"

"Your brother has become…powerful," the angel says carefully. "I underestimated him. We all did. Now he poses an even greater threat than we believed."

Dean frowns. "Hey, I don't like the demon powers either, but come on, Cas, this is Sam we're talking about. He isn't evil. Never was, never will be."

Castiel looks sad as he meets Dean's eyes once more. "You did not see him with Alastair."

Now Dean's eyebrows rise. "What, back at the church? He tried to stop him, but Alastair cleaned the floor with him."

"No, Dean, not the church." His eyes are almost glowing blue as he looks at Dean. "At the warehouse."

Dean's face drops. He doesn't remember seeing Sam at the warehouse at all—just afterward, when he woke up at the hospital. _He was there? What did he see? What did he HEAR?_ _Does he know about the seal? Fuck, does he know about ME?_

"Dean." Castiel's voice brings Dean out of his head, but when he sees the serious look on the angel's face, he's overcome with dread. The words he wants to ask won't come, so Castiel seems to read his mind and answer for him. "I didn't kill Alastair," Cas intones. "Sam did."

The constant, crushing weight on Dean's shoulders grows a few tons heavier, and Dean sags at the truth. "H-how?" he whispers, pretty sure he knows the answer, and praying that he's wrong.

"With his powers," Castiel confirms. "I saw it myself. He didn't just exorcize Alastair—he killed him."

Dean grasps at a last straw of hope. "Maybe it was a fluke?"

"No, Dean. First he tortured Alastair, and when the demon wouldn't talk, Sam boasted that he could now kill demons as well. And then he proceeded to do so." Castiel places his hand on Dean's neck as a small gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Dean, but you need to know what you're up against."

"I'm not against my brother," Dean growls. "And I never will be."

Castiel is sympathetic. "I hope you never have to be. But I have my doubts."

Dean can't reply. As much as he hates it and will never, ever admit it out loud, Dean has his doubts as well. "You ever think of maybe telling all of this to Sam? Might help him if he hears it first-hand."

"He won't listen to us," Castiel states, looking right at Dean. "The only one he listens to is you."

Dean hangs his head. "Not anymore…" he says very quietly. "Not for a long time." He shuts his eyes, thinking about the latest, awful news. _Sam can kill demons now. KILL them, not just send them back downstairs. What's happening to you, Sammy? How far is this gonna go?_

Castiel sits back down. "You have to get through to him, Dean."

Dean can't help but give a faint smile to the ground. "Get it done. No ifs, ands, or buts about it," he finishes, and he turns his dark amusement to Cas. "You sure you're not a shoulder angel? You sure sound like one."

"I am an angel sitting on your giant shoulder," Castiel clarifies. "There is no such thing as a shoulder angel."

"I know, but, see…all right. There's this old joke in movies, cartoons, TV shows, and so on, about everyone's good and bad sides. So say some character in a show has to make a moral decision, like whether or not to take advantage of some drunk chick. A little devil will pop up on one shoulder, representing his naughty side, and he'll encourage the guy to go for it and have fun. Then a little angel will pop up on the other shoulder and tell him not to, because he'll regret it."

"So the man listens to the angel and he doesn't make a bad decision."

"Mm, not always. Depends on the character and the show."

Castiel looks positively stunned. "But surely the man should know that an angel will always lead toward the path of light and the devil's way leads only to perdition?"

"True, but the devil's way usually seems more fun at the time. And don't call me Shirley."

"I didn't."

"Never mind—different joke for a different time. Stick with the shoulder beings for now." Dean regroups his thoughts as he sits up a little taller. "What I'm saying is that sometimes, people make the wrong choices. It's the whole free will thing, y'know? Sometimes doing what's right is too hard or too boring. Sometimes we take the other path because it seems easier, or better—even happier." He looks up at the sky and adds, "Even if your shoulder angel and everyone else in your life are screaming at you to not go down that road."

Castiel nods as his face becomes contemplative. "You are worried that Sam is listening to the devil instead of the angel," he surmises. Dean nods.

"Worse, actually. I'm scared that Sam thinks he's listening to the angel, but it's actually a devil in disguise. Poor shoulder angel got knocked off some miles back and he's lying in a ditch." Imploring green eyes fall upon the real angel. "What do I do, Cas? How am I supposed to get through to him when he doesn't want to hear what I think? How can I keep him off the bad road when he's already got a head start down it? How the hell am I supposed to keep an eye on him and keep him safe when I'm like this," he holds out his massive arms, "huge and slow and pathetic, and he can just drive off and leave me in the dust whenever he wants?"

"I don't know, Dean," Castiel admits. "But you must find a way."

And with that, he's gone. Dean shakes his head: he knew Castiel wouldn't have an answer, but he let himself get his hopes up anyway. _Should know better by now, _he scolds himself. _But hey, being stupid and weak is what you do best nowadays, right?_ He can't help himself—he's angry, and he has to be punished for his mistakes. That's just the way it is.

_Sam's been getting stronger, and you had no idea. If Cas hadn't told you about it, you'd still be in the dark. What's WRONG with you, Dean? Why aren't you keeping closer tabs on that kid? I mean, who knows what he's doing with Ruby nowadays. It can't just be demon hunting anymore—not if Sam is scaring angels…_

His anger grows as he thinks about it all. More secrets. More lies. More keeping Dean in the dark while Sam goes out and works in the shadows. _When was he planning on telling me he killed Alastair? _Dean clenches his jaw. _Probably never. Dammit, Sammy, WHY? Why are you doing this? Why are you OKAY with it? Why won't you talk to me?_

Dean pounds his fists into the ground, and the vibrations make the bridge rattle against his back. He lifts his huge hands up and glares at them. They're getting bigger. All of him is. He's lost control. Again. _Just like last night when you nearly killed Sam. AGAIN_.

He stands up and takes a step forward. Pauses. Looks back at the bridge. Starts to turn away again. Then _BASH!,_ he slams both arms down on the bridge. The old iron bends like soft lead, encasing his right wrist until he pulls it out, the metal twisting and breaking with it. He grasps the makeshift handcuff and hurls it away and out of sight. Then he hammers his fists into the top and side, leaving huge, crumbling holes everywhere. He shoves his boot through the structure, like he's kicking a locked door open, and it hits hard. He kicks again, and the bridge breaks in two. One side collapses into the ravine, a tangled mess of iron, wood, and concrete. The other groans into a droop but remains hanging. He tears the remnants from their anchors and heaves it high into the air. It crashes somewhere further up the ravine. He beholds the destruction around his feet.

It's a start.

Dean's entire body is shaking with rage. He needs more things to destroy. With a grunt, he trudges back toward the salvage yard.

* * *

Sam is upstairs in one of Bobby's spare rooms, keeping himself occupied with his demon roadmap—yet another secret he's keeping from Dean. At least Bobby is with him on this one, but Sam still feels remorse.

"I hate secrets," Bobby grouses in Sam's memory of the day the older hunter found him out. "And Dean hates 'em even more."

"I don't like them, either, Bobby, but I don't have a choice right now. Dean doesn't want to hear anything that Ruby has to say, even when it comes to all this important intel she's giving us."

"And you're so sure she's on the up and up," Bobby had asked, visibly suspicious.

"She's been 10 for 10 so far." Sam had held out the map and the Xs he'd just marked. "Look. This way we'll be able to keep track of the demons' movements without any fuss."

"You mean without Dean worrying about you spending so much time with that demon."

Sam hadn't replied, and Bobby had sighed. "He's gonna find out eventually, son. And he's not gonna be happy when he does."

"Dean has enough to deal with right now. He doesn't need to be worrying about me, especially when I know what I'm doing." Bobby had kept quiet and Sam looked at him. "I'm going to keep doing this whether you help or not. But at least with you helping me, there's a better chance some good will come out of it."

Bobby had mulled it over before he finally replied, "Okay, Sam. I'll help you with your little…project. But when we get a fix on the pattern, we ALL go after Lilith, hear me? That includes Dean. You don't get to sneak out on us for that one, is that clear?" Sam nodded. Bobby then took the map and led Sam to a hidden compartment in the corner of the room's closet. "It'll be safe here."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't thank me," Bobby grumbled. "I don't like you spendin' time with demon trash, and I really don't like you abandoning Dean all the time. You're being an idjit, Sam." Bobby shut the compartment. "But, chances are you'll do something even more idjiotic without me helping you. So I'm in." He glared. "For now."

And that was that. Sam would update the map when they visited, and other times he'd call Bobby with the latest. Now Sam draws a red X on the latest incident and location—La Crosse, WI—and looks over the map. It never fails: wherever the Winchesters go, the demons follow. Sam just doesn't understand it.

_Why are they trailing us instead of attacking? _He turns his head to pose the question to Dean, only to remember that Dean isn't in the room. He's still outside. And Sam hasn't gone out to check on him once.

Sam rolls the map up and puts it back in its hiding place, avoiding the glare of the window as if Dean was right there and doing the glaring himself. But Sam can't bring himself to confront Dean—not yet. It's one thing to have to face the blame of getting caught last night. It's another to go out there and feel so small and helpless again. Facing his giant brother, the walking, talking reminder of ultimate strength and sacrifice, is too much. So he boots up his laptop and takes a sip of coffee.

_CRASH!_

Sam spills his coffee all over his hand and shirtsleeve at the sudden sound. It's a good thing it's gone tepid while Sam was focused on the map. He stands up and flicks off what liquid he can.

_SMASH!_

That one gets him running, down the stairs, out the front door of Bobby's house and into the salvage yard. He locates the source of the commotion at once: his 60-foot brother, who is currently crushing a junked car in his hands. As Sam approaches, Dean crumples it into a ball and throws it as hard as he can into the countryside. Then he kicks through a tower of stacked metal car doors and crushes his huge boot down on top of a wrecked SUV.

"Dean!"

Dean glances down at his brother, but doesn't respond. Instead he picks up a very old tractor. "What," is all he says, flat and uninterested.

"Uh, mind telling me why you're on a junkyard rampage?"

Dean looks at the tractor in his hands. "Cos I couldn't find one of those squeezy stress balls." Dean hurls the tractor at a mass of crushed cars, pulverizing the pile and sending metal chunks everywhere. Sam ducks on instinct until the noise dies down. He pries his arms off his head and glares up at Dean, who just looks annoyed.

"Better now?" Sam barks. "Or you want to hurl a bus into the house while you're at it?"

Dean looks around. "Thought I saw a bus around here somewhere…"

"DEAN!"

Dean's eyes fall back on his furious brother, and the giant gives a hard sigh. "I'm frustrated, all right? And I can't go to the bar, cos I can't fit IN the bar, and I can't go for a drive, cos I can't fit in the car, either!" He grabs a station wagon. "So I'm doing this. Don't like it, don't watch." He drop-kicks it into the fields beyond the back of the house. Then he grabs a wrecked flatbed trailer and tosses it across the salvage yard. As the noise and destruction sound out in the near distance, Dean looks around for something else to throw.

"This is about what happened last night," Sam says. Dean looks down at him, and Sam looks into those big green eyes. "Isn't it?"

Dean says nothing, just drops into a sit. Sam rides out the vibrations and steps a little closer to his huge brother. He braces himself for the "you left me!" scolding he knows he deserves...

"I nearly killed you," Dean mutters. "AGAIN."

Sam is stunned. _THAT'S what he's this upset about?_ He looks up at Dean and sees his big brother seemingly bracing for his own scolding. Sam shakes his head and offers a smile of encouragement.

"But you didn't," Sam reminds him. "I'm still here. You got me out of the wreckage."

"Yeah, and who caused the house to come down in the first place? Me." Dean sends his fist into the ground, making an instant crater. "I lost control, and I don't know why. I've been trying to get myself back to normal all day, and look at me!" He holds his hand out to Sam, and they both watch the fingers elongate. "I'm getting bigger, Sam! It's just happening again! I thought this shit was over, but noooo. Shoulda known I'd never get the hang of it." Dean rubs his hand over his face. "Those kids were right about me," he mutters. "Hunters save people. Monsters destroy things. Might as well face facts here…"

He feels a little pressure on his left knee, and he knows that Sam is climbing up. "You'll get control, Dean," Sam reassures him. "Owen told you it was going to take time, remember? But you'll own this eventually." Dean peers out over his fingers, and Sam nods. "I know it."

Dean gives a little smirk and nods back, letting Sam's faith comfort him. Then Sam clears his throat and looks back at the house.

"So are we gonna talk about last night?"

"Thought we just did."

"Dean…"

The giant grabs a nearby car and starts fiddling with it. Sam remains on Dean's knee and patiently waits for this necessary conversation to start. But Dean just shrugs his shoulders.

"Nothing to talk about, Sam. You're not gonna stop…" He crushes the car in his hand. "And I'm never gonna be okay with it." All at once, Dean springs up another twenty feet, stabbed with invisible knives from head to toe. Sam tumbles off his knee as Dean leans forward, crushed car still in hand as he wheezes in shock. Sam stands up and Dean locks eyes with him—a silent scream for help, and those small and useless feelings flood Sam once more.

"Can you lie down on your side?" Sam calls, feeling stupid that all he can do right now is offer suggestions. Dean nods and shuts his eyes as he turns to roll. He ends up on his back instead of his side, and Sam climbs Dean's shoulder and runs around his chin until he's facing him again. "Just breathe, Dean, come on. I know it hurts, but you gotta keep breathing." Dean's eyes are shut tight, but he nods and forces in a deep breath. "That's it," Sam encourages. "Nice and slow. Keep going." The giant breathes in again and blows the air out, sending Sam flying, but Dean catches him and sets him back down on his shirt.

"S-sorry," he chokes.

Sam waves it off. "You all right?"

"Yeah." He coughs a few times, careful to keep his head turned away so Sam doesn't go airborne again. "Think it's over now. Whatever the hell that was…"

"Good." Sam smiles as an idea comes to mind, but Dean just blinks in confusion.

"'Good'? That's it?"

"Yeah, good that it's over and you're okay!" Sam moves over to the green jacket pocket and crawls in. Now Dean is really confused.

"Uh, Sam? Aren't you going to start pummeling me with questions about what just happened?"

"Dude, I never pummel you with them," Sam retorts. "I lightly tap you with questions, if anything. And besides," he yawns, "I'm tired, man. I'll bet you are, too." Sam smiles again when he hears a stifled yawn behind him. "Okay then, shh. Naptime. For BOTH of us."

Dean frowns. "I don't DO naps, Sammy."

"So? TRY. Neither one of us got much sleep last night. Might as well get a few winks in now." Sam snuggles down and gets comfortable. If he'd look up at his brother, he'd find Dean with a little smile of astonishment on his face.

"You know, there's a perfectly good bed waiting for you inside the house…" Dean leads.

"I know," is all Sam replies. He shuts his eyes, and Dean can't help but broaden that smile. He sets his head down and closes his lids to the world as well. His rage is dormant, replaced by a soft, almost blissful calm. He doesn't expect to actually sleep, but the warm sun on his face, the refreshing breeze sifting through his hair, the birds chirping in the nearby trees, and the small weight of his brother safely tucked away against his chest conspire to gradually lull him into slumber. As the car piles cast lengthening shadows across the yard, he sinks deeper and deeper into the kind of sleep that repairs the body and refuels the mind.

Around suppertime, Dean is startled awake by the sputtering motor of an old truck. It pulls up near the house and stops, and the cab's door opens and slams shut. He hears some muttering and then a cap slapped across a knee.

"DEAN!" Bobby hollers at the top of his lungs. "Get your giant ass over here and clean up this mess!"

Dean looks down at Sam, who is awake now and trying to fight the smirk on his face. "Stop smiling and help me hide!" Dean whispers. He grabs Sam, puts him on top of his head, and soldier-crawls into the depths of the salvage yard.

"He's over here, Bobby," Sam calls.

"Shut uuuuup!" Dean hisses. They slide behind a very old Winnebago, and Sam jumps off Dean's head and onto the RV's roof.

"Bobby!" He jumps up and down. "BAH-bee! Hey!"

Dean grabs Sam again and holds him in a sweaty, dirt-covered hand. The little body squirms, and muffled "Bobby!"s threaten to squeeze out between the fingers, but Dean holds on tight. "Whose side are you on?" Dean whispers angrily. Then Dean's stomach rumbles, reminding him he hasn't eaten a thing ALL DAY, and that's sick and wrong. It's said rumble that finally leads Bobby to Dean's poor excuse for a hiding spot. He folds his arms as he looks at the giant.

"Mind tellin' me what the hell you were thinking, messing up my yard like this?" Bobby barks.

"He wasn't thinking at all!" comes Sam's giddy-but-still-muffled reply.

"Oh that's IT." Dean opens his hand and picks Sam up by the scruff of his jacket. He places him high up on a rickety platform swaying on an equally rickety crane. The moment Sam is set down, the platform and rusted chains groan. He's eyelevel with Dean's chin, and he peers up at his brother's face as Dean starts to turn away.

"Dean, you can't just leave me up here!"

"WATCH me," Dean deadpans. "Payback is a bitch, bitch." He trudges off to face Drill Sergeant Bobby and calls over his shoulder, "You stay up there and think about what you did, traitor."

Sam nods solemnly. _I deserve that. And not just because I ratted you out to Bobby…_ He sits down, crane and platform groaning again as he does so, and settles in for a long evening. His emotions run the full gamut as he watches his brother slowly clean up the mess he made: amusement as Bobby points to another pile every time Dean thinks he's done; _schadenfreude_* when Dean drops a pile of cars on his foot; concern when Dean has to pause and rub at his back and head, wincing in pain. But to his great surprise, the guilt that consumes him day and night is gradually lifted by the fondness he feels for his weird little family. Trading jibes with both his brother and stand-in father feels so good—so normal! Grinning at their bickering, yelling at Dean that he 'missed a spot' and suffering a mock death glare in return—it all feels like a homecoming to Sam, and he realizes just how dearly he missed it all.

_If you wouldn't leave all the time, you wouldn't have to miss any of it, _his inner voice can't help but point out to him. Sam nods. He knows. But then he hears Dean laugh—a real, hearty laugh like Sam hasn't heard from him in ages. It melts away all of Sam's remaining guilt and wraps him up in a warm blanket.

_Blanket… _Sam grins as an idea hits him. He jumps off the crane, and isn't at all surprised to land in Dean's hands seconds later.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean yells down at him. "You got a death wish or something?"

"No, I knew you'd catch me," Sam smiles back. "But I also knew you'd never let me down from there unless I jumped first." He leaps out of Dean's hands before the giant can put him back up on the crane.

"Where are you going?" Dean calls after his retreating brother.

"Special project!" is all Sam calls back. Dean looks down at Bobby, who has walked up next to him.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Bobby wonders aloud.

"No idea." Dean's stomach growls, breaking the silence, and Bobby glares up at Dean's pouting face.

"We ain't done yet."

"Come on, Bobby, I've got all the major stuff out of the way! What do you want me to do, run around the yard with a duster? It's a SALVAGE YARD, man. This is as clean as it gets."

Bobby gives in with a sigh, and Dean grabs him and jogs back to the house in about four steps. He sets Bobby down on the stoop of the back door with a big grin.

"What're we having?" Dean asks, already feeling the drool forming around his lips. Bobby cracks a smile.

"You mean what're YOU having. And we both know it's whatever I got."

"I know, hurry, cook!" Dean practically shoves Bobby through the front door, and then he sits down on his knees and peers into the kitchen window. To Sam, who has just crept out the front door, he looks like a giant puppy, down on all fours and tongue hanging out.

_All he needs is a big tail thumping the ground, _he grins. Then he runs the big pile of stuff in his arms out to the fields.

Another two hours later, Dean has finished eating Bobby out of bread, cold cuts, roast beef, cheese, pickles, potatoes, ice cream, noodles, and peanut M&Ms. His enormous stomach is only half-full, but he'll take it—half-full is much better than empty. The usual stab of guilt at eating all of Bobby's food hits him again; Bobby always tells him not to worry about it, but Dean knows how much food costs. _And if I could just go back to normal, I wouldn't have to eat all his food._ He looks down at himself, trying to shrink for the zillionth time, but his body remains humongous. Dean sighs. He's gone from losing control to having absolutely no control in one day. _Talk about a giant step backward…_

"Dean, there you are!" Sam calls from behind him, and Dean gives him a look as he turns around.

"You were looking for me? How could you MISS me?"

Sam smirks. "I was trying to be polite, jackass." He whirls around and waves at Dean to follow him. Dean smiles and obliges, following Sam out to one of the fields behind Bobby's house. Sam holds his arms out in a 'ta-da!' pose, and Dean's smile becomes a wide grin. A huge rectangle of field has been cut down and filled in with hay and long grasses. Next to one of the short ends rest folds of fabric. Dean picks it up and unfurls it. It's a patchwork of curtains, upholstery, linens, and even old clothes, all held together with a mass of safety pins.

"What's all this?" Dean asks, still grinning.

"It's a bed," Sam replies, sounding a little hurt.

"No, no, I can see that," Dean quickly amends, "but why, Sam? I always sleep behind the house."

"Yeah, and you always wake up with a back full of gravel imprints and bitch about your aching neck all day. I really should've thought of this months ago…" Both men catch the touch of bitterness in that comment, but Sam swiftly recovers and looks back at Dean with a smile. "But hey, it's ready now. And it's soft, I promise. Try it out!"

Dean humors him and lies down. The makeshift mattress really IS soft. "I also made sure there wasn't any manure around," Sam informs him from next to his ear. Dean chuckles and thanks him for that. Then Sam runs off toward Dean's feet. "Don't forget the blanket!" he yells.

"Oh, of course, the blanket. Sorry, Sammy." Dean pulls the blanket over his legs, marveling at all the different stuff it's made out of. "So this is what you were up to when I was eating?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Sam says as he climbs up on top of Dean's left leg. "And no, I'm not hungry. Just tired and sore."

"Yeah. Right there with you." Dean takes his jacket off and bunches it together as a pillow. Then he lies down and pulls the blanket up. It doesn't cover all of him, just from his feet to his mid-chest, but he appreciates it all the same. "Thanks, Sammy," he says, touched. "This is really great."

Sam smiles back. "You're welcome, Dean." He claps his hands together. "Get comfy. It's tuck-in time."

Dean laughs, full and glad, and Sam laughs with him; _GOD, it feels good to laugh_, they both think. Sam races down Dean's leg and slides down the blanketed boot, pulling the cover with him. He carefully stuffs it under Dean's ankle. Then he runs around to the other boot and does the same.

"What's with the extra helping of dorkitude today?" Dean asks, fully amused.

"Not dorkitude," Sam pants as he climbs back up Dean's shoulder. "Just care."

And again, Dean is touched. Sam slides down both shoulders in turn and tucks him in before he climbs up one last time. Sam smiles and nods. "There. You're officially tucked in." He walks toward Dean's shirt pocket.

"What, no good-night kiss?" Dean jokes. Sam spins on his heel and walks in the direction of Dean's chin, arms outstretched and lips puckered. "Dude, kidding, KIDding!" Dean laughs. Sam grins and jogs back to the pocket. He kicks off his shoes and throws them over the giant's side. Then takes his cell phone out of his pocket and turns it off, making sure Dean sees him do it. Dean doesn't say a thing, and Sam doesn't look at him: the gesture says everything for them both. Sam pockets the phone again and then burrows into tee-shirt fabric.

"G'night, Dean."

"Night, Sam." He rests his left hand over Sam and the pocket, and Sam gives the huge knuckle a little kiss.

"I felt that."

Sam smiles. "Good."

The boys shut their eyes.

Exactly ten seconds later, they hear Bobby yell from the house, "Dammit, Sam! What've you done with all my damn curtains?"

The brothers chuckle and fall asleep to bellowed threats in the background.

* * *

**A/N Additional:** *_schadenfreude_, for those who might not know, means "joy through adversity" and refers to when you laugh or enjoy another person's misfortune, such as Sam does when Dean drops stuff on his foot. And now you know. And knowing's half the battle. G.I. JOOOOE! LOL. Looks like I had an extra helping of dorkitude today too.

Just a reminder before I go that there are manips for this chapter! Check out my profile to see them—four in total!


	3. A Pest, Some Tests, and Unrest

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Extra long chapter for an extra long wait. In fact, it's so huge, I have to split it into two chapters. I'll post one today and the other in a few days. Hope they were worth the wait! If you have a moment, please let me know what you think, good or bad. Reviews make my day AND help me be a better writer thanks to the feedback! Big thanks as always to Katiki for beta-ing and being all-around great. And here we go!

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Pest, Some Tests, and Unrest**

It starts to rain during the night, cold and steady, and Dean's sleepy mind resists the physical discomfort as long as it can. But when his makeshift bed gets soggy enough to seep chilly mud through his jeans, Dean grumbles in defeat. Still half asleep, he stands up and walks back to the house, keeping his hand over the pocket to make sure Sam stays warm and dry. He arrives at the front door, scoops Sam out, and shrinks down to 10 feet—not quite normal, but small enough to get inside. Later that day, his very-much-awake mind will wonder how he did that, but for now, his only coherent thoughts are "wet," "tired," and "take care of Sammy."

Dean carries his now child-sized brother to the sofa. Sam clings to him when Dean tries to set him down, so Dean sits down first and Sam remains in his lap, snuggled up and safe. The two are both fully asleep again in seconds.

They're still in that embarrassing position when Bobby finds them in the morning. He smirks, takes the requisite blackmail photos, and sneaks into the other room to make a call.

"Want to see something you can tease the boys about for years?" he asks. The person on the other end of the line shouts a "hell yeah!" so Bobby tells her to get over to his house right away. "Oh, and you'd better bring a peace offering, babe."

"Don't I always? See you soon." Meesh hangs up with a smile on her face, fondly wondering what her boys have gotten themselves into this time.

When she arrives about 20 minutes later, Bobby shushes her and takes her by the hand as they head into the living room. Meesh has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Sam is now curled up completely on Dean's lap, head against Dean's left shoulder and both arms around his neck. Dean is resting his slightly larger head against Sam's hair and has one arm draped over Sam's side, the other under his legs to boost him up.

"Ohhh thank you for this, Bobby," Meesh whispers, taking a pic to forward to her son, Jeremy. "Had a crappy day at work yesterday and this is just the sort of Aww! Moment I needed to forget about it."

They kiss, and as Bobby moves behind her, he puts his chin on her shoulder and his arms around her waist as they take another look at the brothers. "Should we wake 'em up?"

"Mm, let's let them find out for themselves. Is your printer stocked up?" Her eyes glint with mischief, and Bobby stifles a laugh and leads her back to his computer.

It's another hour before Sam finally stirs. He smiles, feeling all warm and snuggly. He can't remember the last time he woke up feeling this comfortable.

He knows at once that something is wrong.

Opening one eye, Sam takes a tentative look around. _Bobby's living room, _he recognizes. _Wait…wasn't I outside last night? Yeah, me and Dean—DEAN. _Both eyes now open and alert, Sam looks around but doesn't see his brother right away, so he begins to untangle his stiff limbs from their slumbering positions. But something stops him from getting up: Sam looks to the floor and finds two very long legs beneath him. Then he looks up and finds Dean's upper torso towering up behind him, thankfully still asleep but with no intention of letting Sam go. Sam's cheeks flush pink at the predicament, and he prays no one saw them like this. He clears his throat.

"Um…Dean?"

Dean just keeps sleeping. Sam feels a pang of guilt for waking him up—it's been a very long time Dean has slept so well and even longer since he slept through the night. But he knows Dean wouldn't want to wake up to such a scene of sheer schmoopitude, either, so Sam tries again. "Dean? Lemme go. I, uh…I need t' pee."

Dean mumbles something and releases Sam, but before Sam can leave, Dean grabs him back for a bear hug.

"Jus' wan' you safe…" Dean murmurs.

"Yeah, Dean…I know." Sam gives him an awkward pat on the chest, and then notices a wet spot on Dean's shirt, just below his shoulder. _Right next to where I was sleeping. Wow, this gets better and better… _Dean is still hugging him, so Sam hugs back and tries another pat. "I'm just going to the bathroom, okay?"

Dean opens his sleepy eyes and smiles. "Okay, Sammy." He bends down to kiss Sam on the top of his head—and freezes. Green eyes open wide. "Sam?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Were we, um…I mean, did…are…with the…" Dean snaps his eyes shut again and blurts, "Dudepleasetellmeweweren'tcuddling…"

"Nah, you weren't cuddling," Bobby smirks as he comes back into the room. "More like clinging to each other with death grips."

Dean goes pink as well and practically pushes Sam off of him. Sam gets up and readily backs away.

"I gotta…"

"Pee, yeah," Dean finishes. "You do that Sammy…Sam-Sammy."

Sam dashes out of the room, but both Bobby and Dean hear him slow to a trot up the stairs. _Smooth, little brother, _Dean thinks. Bobby is still smirking, so Dean scowls at him. "Damn, Bobby, enjoy the show?"

"Not as much as you two."

"Funny." Dean stands up and promptly smacks his head against the ceiling, still 10-feet tall. "Ow." He smacks his elbow into the wall, and then whirls and trips over a stack of books, landing with a loud THUD on the floor. Bobby glares at him. "OW!" Dean repeats with a flourish.

"Yeah, yeah, my heart's bleedin' out for ya. Now clean up yer mess before my girlfriend sees any of it."

"MEESH is here?" Dean's scowled face turns to pure joy as he bounds into the kitchen. Meesh is by the oven and already smiling at him.

"There's my big boy!" she coos, and Dean rolls his eyes but runs to her anyway, sweeping her off the floor and hugging her tight. She laughs and tells him to put her down, and he hugs her again before he obliges. "You'd think you haven't seen me in a year, not last week," she teases.

"Well if that clinic of yours would let you leave more often…"

"Dean, it's MY private practice clinic, remember? I kinda hafta be there for the good people of Sioux Falls."

"That's no excuse!" Dean teases right back. Then his face falls as he sees something on the fridge. It's a print-out picture of him and Sam mid-snuggle. He shrinks back down as he walks over, normal-sized again as he tears the paper off the fridge. "Cute," he snits as he turns back to Meesh and holds it up in a 'really?' fashion.

Meesh is sunshine and daisies as she pulls fresh muffins out of the oven. "I KNOW, isn't that a darling picture of you two?"

Dean wants to sass back—really, truly, he does—but the aroma of those muffins is just too damn wonderful. He grows a foot as he purrs, "Blueberries," stepping back up to Meesh.

"Aaaand…" She holds up the mixing bowl, "my handmade Sweet Cream of Awesomeness, extra sweet with a healthy dose of vanilla schnapps."

Dean's head hits the ceiling again. "Meesh, I think I love you."

"Too bad, she's taken," Bobby snaps. He puts his arms around his girl and throws Dean a look. Dean smirks but holds his hands up in faux-surrender. Meesh smiles at them both.

"Nice to know I'll have a fall-back guy in case things with you don't work out," she winks at Bobby.

"Now that ain't even remotely funny!" Bobby barks, though his eyes shimmer with humor.

Sam storms in at that moment. "Know what else isn't funny?" He holds up another print-out picture of him and Dean a-cuddled.

"No, you're right, Sam—THAT is hilarious," Meesh deadpans.

"A classic," Bobby agrees. "Might get one of them framed."

"Unless they find them all…"

"Relax, babe, I've got it backed up on the 'puter. And there's no way they'll find ALL of them..." Both Bobby and Meesh grin at the boys. Dean has shrunk back to normal again and is now trading mortified looks with Sam.

"How many copies are there?" Sam asks with dread.

"Oh, about 100, give or take," is Meesh's nonchalant reply.

"We ran out of paper," Bobby adds. "Otherwise there'd be more."

As he speaks, Sam notices something on the ceiling: another print-out. He snags it off its tape and sneers a "Thanks" as he crumples it up.

"Yeah, what did we ever do to you?" Dean asks. He and Sam both suffer long glares from Bobby and Meesh at that, and Dean sighs. "Touché." He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces. "Ugh. Shower time." He heads for the door, pausing only to warn that there'd "better be coffee ready by the time I'm back, or else."

"Or else what?" Bobby asks. Dean just points at him. "Oooh, shakin' in my boots here."

Dean trudges up the stairs, grumbling about no one telling him it was Pick On Dean Day. Bobby just shakes his head and turns back to the table. "So, breakfast? We should probably eat before the Bottomless Pit gets done with his shower."

"Sounds good," Meesh nods. "Sam, would you get the plates?"

Sam goes to the cupboard and opens the door. Another print-out is taped inside. He tugs it off as Bobby and Meesh laugh. As Sam sets the plates, he finds a few more taped onto the plates themselves. Then there's a cry of "Oh COME on!" from Dean upstairs.

"I'm guessing he found the one in his duffel," Meesh says.

"Or the one in the shower," Bobby supplies. "Either way, he'll find the other one soon enough." He smiles at Sam, who has just found one tucked into the napkins, and drawls, "Plenty more to go, son." He takes off his cap and makes sure Sam sees the inside, where a smaller one is taped to the top. Sam groans and sits down at the table. He doesn't even look down, just grabs the paper he knows is there from underneath his butt and drops it to the floor.

And so it goes for the entire breakfast. Dean comes down the stairs with his arms full of crumpled paper balls. He frowns when he's informed that he didn't even get half of the ones in his room. They keep spotting them while they're eating, and the so-called adults laugh with each new discovery. Now, as Sam goes to the microwave to heat up some water for Meesh's tea, he finds another one taped inside. He pulls it off and throws it at the laughing couple.

"This is never gonna get old for you, is it," Sam asks flatly.

"Nope!" Meesh giggles. "In fact, all this laughing is adding years to our lives."

"Lucky us," Dean grunts, rubbing his forehead.

Sam sees it as he brings the hot water back to the table and sits down. "Headache?" Dean nods but doesn't say anything. "Well, at least you're back to normal," Sam reminds him, trying to brighten Dean's mood. "How'd you do that anyway?"

"No idea," Dean admits, quiet.

Meesh stands up, looking determined. "Then we'll just have to figure it out." The men all look up at her with surprise. "What? I have the day off, and none of you have anything better to do…" She gives Sam a look for a split second, and Sam catches it and feels unnerved at once. But Meesh smiles in her 'let's get it done' way a moment later. "Bobby told me you've been having trouble lately, Dean. We should figure it out before it gets any worse, don't you think?"

"Doesn't matter what I think," Dean rebuffs. "You've got that can-do look on your face, and I know there's no way out of whatever you've got in mind." They smirk at one another, and Dean leads Sam and Bobby in standing up. "Well, no time like the present. You coming Sam?"

Sam had turned and was just about to head out the door to the main room when Dean posed his question. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Just want to change my clothes first." And he does, but that's not the only reason he wants to go upstairs.

"Well hurry up," Meesh calls. "We'll need everyone's help on this."

Sam nods and rushes up the stairs. He takes his shirt off and pops his head through a fresh royal blue tee in case someone comes to check on him. Leaving it around his neck, he then picks up his cell phone and turns it on. There are several voice mails, all from Ruby, and a text message as well. He reads that first:

_Whr R U? Stop ignrg me and call dammit!_

The phone rings just as he's about to listen to voice mail, and Sam answers. "It's about fucking time," Ruby growls.

"Good morning to you too," Sam answers. "How are you?"

"Cut the crap, Sam. This is serious. Where were you last night?"

"I'm at Bobby's. When you dropped me off yesterday, Dean was gone, and I found out he came here. So I followed him."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. He's in a lot of pain from growing. He's all right for now, but—"

"Good, then you can meet me in Hull, Iowa. The demons that got away last night are hiding there."

Sam pinches the area between his eyes. "I can't, Ruby. Not this time."

"Excuse me?"

"They need me here," Sam tells her as he glances out the window. "Dean needs me."

"Sam, I need you. The WORLD needs you! These demons are close to Lilith—we NEED their intel."

"So? Torture them till they talk."

"I'm not strong enough," Ruby argues. "You're the only one that can get them to spill their secrets!"

Sam doesn't reply—his gaze is fixed on Dean, who is standing off on his own, hand to his head as he starts to shake all over. He looks up at Sam's window, sees he's being watched, and straightens up at once.

"Sam," Ruby snarls, "what's more important? Finding Lilith, keeping the seals from falling, saving the world? Or holding your brother's hand while he cries over his latest screw up?"

"I'll talk to you soon, Ruby." Sam hangs up the phone and runs downstairs, pulling his new shirt down at last. He has his hand on the front door when he hears his name called. Meesh walks into the room, carrying a paper bag full of several items. She gives Sam a knowing look.

"Hey, Meesh," Sam covers. "Sorry I took so long. I was just—"

"Doing the right thing," Meesh finishes. Sam blinks down at her, but she smiles. "Come on. Dean needs his family. Here are your instructions." She hands him a small note, and they open the door and step outside.

Dean and Bobby look up as Meesh and Sam walk over. "So how exactly are we gonna do this?" Dean asks.

"Scientifically, of course," Meesh beams. "Experiments! Data! Findings! I even brought my voice recorder." She holds it up with the poise—and gesture—of Vanna White revealing a letter.

Dean leans over to Sam and mutters, "Is it me, or does she seem way too excited to experiment on me?"

"She does kinda have that mad scientist look in her eye," Sam mumbles back.

"Warn me if you see any electrodes or neck bolts." Dean shudders at his own words as he moves forward and paints a smile on his face. "So! What's first?"

Meesh reaches into her bag and pulls out something covered in tin foil. She unwraps it and produces a piece of pie. Dean shoots up a couple feet at once.

"Meesh…is THAT—?"

"My frozen Oreo Cream Cheese Pudding Pie with Oreo crust and a layer of double fudge? Why yes, it is!" She laughs as Dean shoots up a few more feet, now about 12 overall, but when he reaches for it, she holds it out of the way. "Ah-ah-ah, not so fast. This is a highly sensitive apparatus, not an icy treat. Bobby?"

Bobby reaches into the bag and holds up yet another print-out of the boys cuddling, and Dean shrinks at once. "Interesting," Meesh comments. She holds her recorder up to her mouth. "Subject has positive reaction to something he craves and negative reaction to something he doesn't like. Suspect underlying problem isn't nearly this simple…"

"Subject?" Dean repeats, sounding offended. "I've got a name, y'know."

She clicks off the recorder. "This is a scientific study, Dean, and in case anyone ever finds it—however unlikely that would be—I don't want anyone knowing your name. It's the same reason we're not video-taping this. Now shush and look at your brother!"

Dean turns and finds Sam standing by the Impala—with his key two inches from the car's surface and closing. Dean grows 50 feet in two seconds. "Don't you DARE!" he hollers. Sam jumps back, shocked even though he knew how pissed off Dean would be, and pockets the key just as Dean makes a grab for him. Sam dodges the fingers and tumble rolls back to his feet.

"Dean, c'mon, you know I'd NEVER scratch her!"

"Damn straight you won't," he growls back, standing to his full height.

Meesh whistles from behind him. "Dean!"

He turns to look and sees her holding up the pie again. "What?" he yells, still upset. Meesh nods to Bobby, who holds up the print-out again. Dean just rolls his eyes and turns back to his car, soothing her with his huge hands.

"Interesting," Meesh comments again. "Most interesting." The recorder is back at her mouth. "Subject has no reaction to either temptation or punishment when he is emotionally upset. Must rule out other factors before exploring further."

Dean sits his giant body down by the Impala. "How do you feel?" Meesh calls.

"Pissed that Sam nearly keyed my car."

Sam frowns. "Dude!"

"DUDE," Dean glares back.

"Okay, so you're angry," Meesh sums up. "What about physically?"

Dean shrugs. "I'm fine."

"Be honest, Dean."

"No, seriously, I'm fine. Nothing hurts."

"So it didn't hurt to grow that time?"

Dean shakes his head no, and Meesh nods. "Okay. Moving on. Bobby, I need a water hose." Bobby runs off to fetch it and Meesh smiles up at Dean's wary look. "Trust me, Dean. I'm a doctor AND a scientist."

"What temp you want?" Bobby shouts from the side of the house.

"Cold!" Meesh calls back, looking gleefully evil. "Ice cold."

Bobby laughs. Sam smirks. Dean shrinks a few feet and frowns.

* * *

The next two hours are two of the longest and most embarrassing of Dean's life. Meesh runs him through test after test, and his body is stretched, scrunched, swollen, and squeezed to the point where Dean doesn't know what size he is unless he looks around. Among the myriad of tests, Meesh has made him:

1. Sit with a hose over his head, ice water pouring on top of him, to try and replicate the conditions of the night before, when it was raining and he shrank to take Sam inside. Dean got very cold and drenched, but remained the same size.

2. Watch as Sam limped in from nowhere and collapsed at Dean's feet. Dean first grew with concern, then shrank when Sam cried out in pain, then grew again in anger when he realized Sam was faking it, and then shrank again when they all laughed. He ended up about 20-feet tall after all was said and done.

3. Watch Bobby, Meesh, and Sam eat the frozen Oreo Cream Cheese Pudding Pie in front of him. No size reaction, but plenty of pouting from Dean.

4. Find out they saved him a piece. A smile, but no growing or shrinking.

5. Run 20 laps around the fields behind Bobby's house. That was the real time killer, as even at 20-feet tall, it still took Dean a while to run all those acres. Result? Tired and sweaty Dean, no size reaction.

6. See his baby covered in the infamous print-outs. A "Son of a bitch!" and a shrink down to normal as he looked for someone to strangle.

Now he's resting on the front porch, beer in hand despite the fact that it's only just after 11 in the morning. Meesh disappeared inside a few minutes ago, saying they were done for the day and they'll try again tomorrow, and Dean is already worried. _What's next? _he can't help but wonder. _Strength test? Starvation test? Urine test? _He rests his hand on the staircase post next to him. _This is NOT the way to spend a weekend._

Dean sighs into his beer and then takes a sip. He desperately wants to believe he's just annoyed with all the tests he's been through, but he knows better. As always, his inner critic can't resist the urge to poke fun. _You wouldn't have to go through these tests if you could get your ability under control, _it hisses.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean mumbles back.

_Course, you haven't had control over anything for a while now, _it goes on. _Well, EVER, really. Your whole life has been about doing what other people expect. Following orders. Do this, do that, take care of Sammy. And it was never good enough. You failed them more times than you can count. _Dean just nods and drinks. _What is it with you and failure, Dean? _the inner voice asks.

Dean snorts. "We're all good at something I guess…" He takes another drink.

_It's nothing to be proud of, you know. What you've done—or haven't done, really—is pathetic, but this? Friends and family trying to fix you, when they all know just as well as you that there IS no fixing you. You'll try, you'll fail, you'll drink. Same song, different verse. _

Dean rolls his shoulders, trying to ease his inner voice's barbs out of his body before they dig their stingers in any further. _I'm doing my best, dammit._

_Yeah, and look at where your best has gotten you: a stranger for a brother who knows he's better than you, a stand-in father who always has to clean up your messes, a doctor who is clearly insane, thinking you're worth anything, an angel that made the HUGE mistake of taking the world's greatest disappointment out of Hell, a growing problem that keeps fucking everything up, and hey, the blood of everyone on Earth on your hands, seeing as how you started the Apocalypse and all. _Ghostly clapping fills Dean's ears. _A+, Dean. Gold star._

_You really like hearing yourself talk, don't you, _Dean thinks back. The inner voice chuckles.

_That's right, Dean, keep playing tough. You forget that I'm behind these walls you keep building up. I know the truth. I know what's really going on. I wouldn't bother telling you, but you LIKE to suffer, admit it. You LIKE being reminded of how much you suck. You think it makes you tougher, stronger—a better soldier. And I have to ask, Dean, why the FUCK do you think punishing yourself will make you stronger? Is that John's doing? Man never did say anything nice to you unless you got hurt or were dying. Or is it you, Dean? Is it because you don't know anything except failure and being left behind? Are you afraid to ever think about your own happiness—your own worth?_

Dean doesn't know, and more to the point, he isn't sure he wants to know. He finishes his beer and looks at the five-out-of-six-pack on the table. He cracks open another one, even though he knows it won't change anything, much less make him feel any better, and takes a long tug.

At that moment, Sam bursts out the front door, looking scared. "Dean, it's Meesh."

Dean sets his beer down and scrambles inside after him. "What happened?"

"I don't know!" Sam leads Dean to the kitchen, where Meesh is on the floor, seizing badly. "I just found her like this," Sam says, face white from worry.

Dean slides in next to her. "Meesh? Hey…" He gently pats her face. "Can you hear me?" He grabs her arms to hold her down, but Sam shouts not to.

"You have to let the seizure run its course. Just help me get the table out of the way so she doesn't hurt herself." They move the table and chairs to the other side of the room, then watch helplessly as Meesh seems to get worse.

"Where the hell is Bobby?" Dean yells.

Sam points to the back door. "Took off running—said his neighbor across the field had something that would help."

The seizure finally ends, and Meesh falls limp. Sam and Dean check her vitals and find a thready pulse and shallow breathing. Good, but not nearly good enough.

"Hang on, Meesh," Dean soothes. "Bobby's bringing help." He holds her hand as he exchanges anxious looks with Sam.

The minutes tick by. Dean tries Bobby again and again on his cell but gets no answer. Sam soothes a cool washcloth over Meesh's burning forehead. They don't speak. They're too scared. When they hear a helicopter flying in the distance, they both jump at the sound. Sam gets to his feet and looks out the window.

"No way…" He's out the back door before Dean can ask him what's going on. Sure enough, a small helicopter is landing behind Bobby's house—Bobby at the controls, no less. Dean's cell phone rings and he picks up at once.

"Dean, bring Meesh out here. Try and keep her head from moving too much."

"But why the helicop—?"

"Just MOVE, Dean!"

Dean hangs up and follows Sam back inside. Sam wraps his jacket around Meesh's head and neck at once. "Heard him," Sam explains. "You've got your volume all the way up." Sam nods when he's done, and they carry her outside, Sam at her shoulders and Dean with her feet. Bobby has the back door of the chopper open and is moving stuff around inside.

"In here," Bobby orders, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet he's wearing. They carefully set Meesh down on some blankets, and Bobby uses the supply straps as makeshift seatbelts, buckling in her arms and ankles. "Meesh has epilepsy," he informs the brothers. "Have to get her to the hospital in Mitchell Ay-Sap."

"What about the hospital here in town?" Dean asks.

"No MRI machine." Bobby closes the door and waves at Dean to follow. "Only room for one-a you. Let's go."

Dean looks at the chopper, fear already apparent on his face. "Ok, fine, you and Sam—"

Meesh's grasp on Dean's hand tightens. "No, Dean, you know her better," Sam argues. "You can keep her calm."

"But—"

"Go, Dean!" Sam shouts, pushing Dean into the chopper. Dean sits down in the co-pilot seat, puts the spare helmet on, and straps in. Bobby takes them into the air, and as Sam shrinks away below him, Dean grips the seat and shuts his eyes tight.

"Dean!" Bobby yells through the helmet comm. "Keep yer eyes on Meesh! Don't let her move!"

Dean unbuckles his seatbelt with violently shaking hands and crawls into the back. He tries to think up some Metallica for his fractured nerves, but all the songs start playing at once in his head, and the cacophony of noise only makes things worse. But he sees Meesh's pale face and pulls himself together for a moment. He takes her hand in both of his and her eyes flutter open.

"Hey, gorgeous," Dean smiles. "How's the head?"

"W-wha…where?"

"You had a seizure. Bobby's flying us to Mitchell."

Her brow crinkles. "But…you hate flying. Bobby told me so."

"Don't remind me," Dean mutters.

"So you're not scared?"

"Honestly?" Dean leans in close. "I'm fucking terrified." He holds up his still-shaking hands that are now making hers tremble in their grip. Meesh frowns, and Dean gets even more scared. "Meesh? What is it?"

Her free hand brings her voice recorder to her face. "Test subject shows no reaction to extreme fear or adrenaline."

"What the FUCK?" Dean sits up, wide eyes switching from staring at Meesh to glaring at Bobby. "This was a TEST?"

"Sorry, kid," Bobby replies. "We had to make it as real as possible."

Dean brushes a hand through his hair. "I don't…how COULD you?" His gaze falls on Meesh, and his frown drops down right on top of her. "So you don't really have epilepsy?"

"Nope. I have an allergy to a certain painkiller. Gave myself just enough so I'd get a visible reaction." She sits up. "I feel hungover, if that helps at all."

"I don't believe this. You put yourself in danger for a damn test?"

"Dean, I knew what I was doing."

"I don't care!" Dean yells. "It was stupid!" Dean moves back to the co-pilot seat and straps in, face still full of disbelief. He looks at Bobby. "Was Sam in on it too?"

"It was his idea," Bobby admits.

Dean laughs bitterly. "Course it was…"

Bobby sighs into the microphone in his helmet. "Don't get your panties in a knot over this. We had to check everything. We're trying to help!"

"Meesh putting herself in danger does NOT help me." Dean glares at both Bobby and Meesh in turn. "Now can we please land so I can storm off? There's no storming room in here."

They circle back to the house, and Dean ignores everything they say to try and placate him. As they begin to descend, Dean spots Sam by the front porch. He's not alone. Bobby sees it too.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Ruby," Dean hisses. His heart pounds in anger and his head gently hits the ceiling. "Was this part of the plan, too?" he demands of Bobby, still slowly growing. "Get me out of the way so they could talk in private?"

"NO, ya idjit! I'm just as unhappy to see her as you are."

"Yeah, right. And I'm just supposed to believe you now, after what you just pulled."

The helicopter starts to struggle with the new weight. "Dean, stop growing before you make us crash!"

Dean grits his teeth, still pissed off, as he focuses on stopping his growth and reversing back to normal. His molars are nearly dust by the time they land, and he's out the door at once, storming around to the front of the house.

**

* * *

**

**A/N Additional:** Yeah, I know, weird place to stop, but like I said, the chapter was HUGE, and this was the only logical place to split it. More very soon, I promise!


	4. From Whirlybirds to Whirlwinds

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** It's been a hellish two weeks for yours truly, and I'm very sorry it resulted in such a delay in posting. But here it is, and super-sized no less—28 pages! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, and extra squiffy thanks to Katiki for all her help and her endless patience. Here we go!

* * *

**Chapter Four: From Whirlybirds to Whirlwinds**

_Moments before…_

Sam walks to the front of the house and watches the helicopter fly out of sight. He hopes that his idea won't end up killing his brother. Bobby and Meesh wanted to test his fear, and Sam knew that two things scared Dean more than anything else: flying, and someone he cares about getting hurt. Combining the two would be the ultimate test. Sam just hopes it isn't TOO real. His fears manifest as wild What If scenarios:

_What if Dean has a heart attack? What if Dean grows and they fall to their deaths? What if Meesh gave herself too much of that drug and she goes into a coma? What if THAT is what makes Dean grow, and he gets stuck while he's trying to help, smooshes Meesh and Bobby, survives the resulting crash, and then runs away out of guilt, and I never see him again? What if he gets suicidal? What if—_

"I didn't know Bobby was a pilot," says someone behind him. Sam whirls around and finds Ruby on the porch.

"Ruby? What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see what you ditched me for this time." She takes a sip from Dean's opened beer bottle. "So what's with the air show?"

"We're running tests on Dean to try and figure out what triggers his growth spurts. Then we're gonna work out ways he can fight it."

Ruby scoffs. "Seriously? You're spending the day teaching Dean new tricks? That's a complete waste of time, Sam." She smirks and adds, "Dean already knows how to roll over and play dead."

Sam gives her the bitch face. "You done?"

"No." She folds her arms. "Can I be frank with you?"

"Are you ever anything BUT?"

"This is STUPID, Sam. While you're sitting here dog-sitting your brother, seals are breaking. Two more since last night. TWO."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter where—what's important is that you WEREN'T there to stop them!"

"I'm almost never there to stop them," Sam points out. "Neither is Dean. We only get a chance to stop them when the angels tell us where they are."

"That's cos the angels are losing, Sam. Lilith is winning. And if we ever want to stop her, we have to find her. And the only way to find her—"

"Yeah, yeah, I KNOW: to get demon intel. But c'mon, the last few demons haven't known a thing. It's been a waste of time. I should've been here with —" He cuts himself off, but it's too late. Her eyes are already rolling.

"This is pathetic. It's like there's a big world crisis, and Superman won't help—he'd rather stay at home and play with his puppy."

Now Sam rolls his eyes. "Enough with the stupid dog analogies, Ruby. They're not funny."

"Know what else isn't funny? The APOCALYPSE, Sam. The very real end of the world going down right now! And believe it or not, your brother is PART of the world. He'll die with everyone else if you don't get to Lilith in time!"

Sam looks down as his forehead fills with lines, like the page of a writer's frustrated, crossed-out notes. Ruby's face softens, and she sets down the beer and puts her hand on Sam's arm. "I know how much you care about Dean. And I know you want to help him, but let's face it—you can't. He's damaged goods, and this giant problem of his…well, it's too big for you, literally! Your energy," she tips his chin up, "your STRENGTH, is needed elsewhere. If you save the world, you'll save Dean, too! Bigger picture here, Sam. Take a good long look."

They glance up as the chopper flies back into view. "Come with me tonight," Ruby urges. "Those demons from last night are still close by."

"And why is that?" Sam asks with impatience. "Why do they follow us instead of attacking us?"

"Ask them yourself tonight!"

The chopper lands, and Sam moves in close. "I'll think about it."

"What d'you mean 'think' about it? Sam, yes or no?"

"I don't know yet! Look, just get out of here."

Her hands knuckle her hips. "Why? I'm sick of hiding, and you should be too! You're a force of good, Sam. You should be open about what you're doing!"

"Wow," Dean grunts as he appears, "I actually agree with you for once." The older Winchester brother and the dark-haired demon size each other up.

"Dean," Ruby says evenly.

"Ruby," he sends back in the same tone. "I'd ask how you've been, but I really don't care."

"Likewise. I was just telling Sam here that he should let go of your hand, or you'll just keep holding him back."

She smiles knowingly. He keeps the poker face on. "Better holding him back than holding him down, sweetheart."

Sam frowns. "Dean…"

"A sex joke," Ruby returns. "I'm shocked. But hey," she rubs Sam's arm, "the truth is the truth, and I don't mind. Your brother deserves a little lovin' after all the hard work he does, killing demons and saving the world. You know, that stuff you don't do anymore?"

"RUBY!" Sam snaps. "Enough."

"Naw, it's all right, Sammy! I'm not afraid of her. Let her speak her piece. I'm SO interested in what a demon slut has to say." Dean picks up his beer and takes a smirking sip.

"So you don't mind that this demon slut took a drink of your beer?" Ruby challenges.

Dean resists the strong urge to spit it out and forces the swallow down, his broad smirk still intact. "Course not. After all, if you're as good as Sam says you are, you wouldn't hurt me. I'm golden."

"Exactly," Ruby smirks right back. "You should listen to Sam more often, Dean. He's right about pretty much everything."

"I'm right here, y'know," Sam sighs.

"And so am I." Meesh smiles as she joins them. "And Bobby would be here as well, but he has to fly the helicopter back. So! Who's your friend, Sam?"

"Meesh, this is Ruby. Ruby—"

"Dr. Michelle Madigan," she offers, still smiling as she shakes Ruby's hand. "I've heard so much about you and I have to say, it's so awful to meet you, so truly…AWFUL." Sam rolls his eyes, Dean grins, and Ruby shrugs.

"Ouch. And they say demons are mean…" Ruby spins on her heel and pats Sam's chest. "Call you later. Think about what I said, okay?"

"Yeah. Take care."

Ruby disappears. Dean collapses on the porch steps the second she's gone. Meesh and Sam run and huddle over him, but Dean yells at them not to touch him.

"Hurts….ungh, hurts everywhere!" He wobbles off the step and curls into a ball on the ground, tears flowing down his scrunched-up face.

"This is just like how he was the other night," Sam realizes. "Right before he lost control and grew."

Meesh bites her lip as she processes this and compares it with what the tests told her. "Dean…are you fighting your need to grow?"

"YES, dammit! Can't…won't let it own me…"

"When did it start?"

He glares at her. "Less questions, more pain meds!"

"Soon, Dean, I promise. Just answer me."

Dean rides out another wave of pain before he's able to answer. "Sssince…helicopter. Since Bobby told me…eugh…to stop growing…or we'd crash-sh."

"And now? Were you fighting it while Ruby was here?"

"With everything I got," Dean growls. "Couldn't give her…sat-satisfaction of…seeing me like that ag-gain-n."

"Well she's gone now. You can stop fighting," Sam offers.

"NO! Can't…ever. Have to be strong s-so you won't—!" Dean cuts himself off with a scream of pure torture. Meesh cards her fingers through his short hair as he fights to get himself under control.

"Dean," she coaxes. "Let go. It's okay!"

Terrified, watery eyes look up at her. "But what if I get h-huge and can't go back to norm-mal?"

"Then we'll figure it out."

"All of us," Sam adds. "Together."

Dean shakes his head. "N-no. Pain's not so bad. It'll…pass…in a second."

"In my experience, pain is not something to ignore," Meesh tells him. "If something hurts, you stop doing it."

Dean looks at Meesh's kind eyes and Sam's puppy dog ones and finally gives in. He crawls away from the house, refusing their help, and waves for them to back up. "Don't know how much I'll…"

He gets no further before the urge to grow overtakes him at last. Dean lets out a groan of a breath as he expands. The pain is gone at once, and Dean relaxes into a whole body stretch that feels sooooo good. He allows the growth to continue until the urge is completely gone. When he allows himself to open his eyes, he's surprised to find himself only as big as he was the night before, around 80-feet tall. He'd been expecting to be colossal, like he was back in Chicago.

"That's better, isn't it," Meesh guesses, and Dean nods down at her as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Meesh turns to Sam. "Why don't you make us all some lunch, Sam? Bobby'll be back soon, and I'll send him in to help."

Sam looks up at Dean, who gives him a small smile. "I'm all right, Sammy," he swears. "Just make me about 50 BLTs and I'll be damn near perfect."

Sam chuckles. "No promises." He disappears into the house, and Dean moves around to the kitchen side of the house and bangs on the wall.

"No skimping on the bacon!"

"We're out of bacon!" Sam calls back from inside.

"So get some more!"

"YOU get some more! Two steps and you'll be at the store!"

"And you call ME lazy," Dean chuckles. He looks down as Meesh approaches and finds her looking at him just so, like she's about to make some kind but uncomfortable observation. Dean sits down, leans his back against the house, and gets comfortable, one leg tucked and the other one up so his chin can rest on his knee. "Lemme guess. It's time for talk. What's it gonna be, The More You Know or One To Grow On?"

"No pun intended on the latter, I'm guessing," Meesh winks. Dean rolls his eyes, and she nudges his hand. "Gimme a boost." He holds his palm out, and Meesh steps on. After the short elevator ride, she settles down on his upraised knee.

"So?" Dean asks. "What's the prognosis, doc? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," she smiles. "There's nothing wrong with you, Dean."

He ducks his head. "Great, now you're lying to me, too."

"No, I'm not. You're completely healthy—physically, anyway. Your real problems," she taps her temple, "are all up here."

"Well that isn't new. The whole world knows I've got my share of loose screws."

"So does everyone else. The difference is how we deal with it." Meesh rubs her tiny hand on Dean's knee. "Dean…with all we've been through, I'd like to think we've become close." Dean smiles a little and nods. "I hope you'll forgive me for this, but I've come to think of both you and Sam as family—as sons. And right now, I'd like to give you some motherly advice, if that's all right."

Dean wants to reply with a smartass remark to lighten the mood, but finds he's too touched to say a thing. Instead he just nods at her to go on. She smiles, though her eyes are fraught with concern. "Dean, you have got to stop being so hard on yourself. Believe it or not, not everything in the world is your fault."

Listening in from the kitchen, Sam puts down the bread and makes a mental note to kiss Meesh as soon as he's able for saying that to Dean. Dean of course feigns ignorance.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. So that whole 'Can't stop fighting and can't give in' tough talk was just that? Talk?"

"No, it was the truth. I can't stop fighting and I can't EVER give in. It's bad enough that I've messed up this much already."

"Messed what up?"

Dean just shakes his head, clearly not wanting to talk about it. Meesh decides to try a different angle. "So what are you really pissed off about here: the consequences of messing up, or the fact that you messed up at all?"

"What is this, Twenty Questions?"

"Because if it's the latter," she says, nearly talking over him, "then you're being ridiculous. You can't expect yourself to be perfect, Dean. You're human, just like the rest of us. We all make mistakes."

"And I've made a helluva lot more than anyone else," Dean snaps.

Meesh frowns. "And are those mistakes SO terrible that you're beyond forgiveness? Even from yourself?" Dean rolls his eyes at that. "Hey!" Meesh smacks her hand on the giant knee beneath her. "Don't do that. This is important, Dean. YOU are important. Say it! I want to hear it."

"Fine, I'm important," he drawls, annoyed. "But everyone else is more important."

Meesh shakes her head at him. "Why do you do that? Why are you so convinced you're last in line?"

He looks right at her and states, "Cos no one's ever told me otherwise."

"What about Sam?"

There's a pregnant pause, and Sam finds himself pressing his ear to the wall to make sure he hears Dean's answer. The pause continues, and Sam starts to wonder if Dean will say anything. But just as he's about to pull away, he hears it, soft and sad:

"Sam doesn't tell me anything these days."

Meesh gives him a look of sympathy. Dean looks away instead of accepting it, so Meesh asks, "What about in the past?"

"What ABOUT the past?" Dean throws back, a little louder than he intended, and Meesh jumps from the shout. He cups his hand around her until she's steadied again on his knee. "Sorry." He takes his hand back and rubs his forehead with it. "Look. There was a time…a long time ago, where yeah, Sam used to look up at me like I was a superhero, and he'd tell me I'm awesome. And I felt awesome, y'know? Felt like I was actually doing something right. Every day Dad would come back from a hunt and bark orders at me, tell me to be faster, be better, stronger. But Sammy…he liked me just the way I was." He lets out a little laugh. "But then we grew up. I'm still the big brother, but he looks down at me. Well, obviously, cos he's taller, but…I mean, even if he's sitting down, he's looking down at me. I'm not a hero in his eyes anymore, I'm just…a disappointment."

Sam, still listening inside, blinks away a tear. He's glad Meesh asks the question he knows he wouldn't be able to get out: "You really believe that?"

Dean shrugs as a cynical smirk plays on his lips. "Well you know how it is, Meesh. You've seen it. If I'm around, he'll use any excuse to leave. And I can't blame him, y'know? I wouldn't want to be around a fuck-up like me, either."

_That's not true, Dean! _Sam thinks.

"That's not true, Dean," Meesh says at the same time. But Dean shakes his head.

"Yeah it is. Inside this gorgeous packaging is an unwanted mess. Like stale fruit cake wrapped with a big-ass bow." He laughs at his own criticism. Meesh shakes her head at him and gives a sad sigh, and Dean's face grows cold. "Don't pity me," he warns her. "Everyone's always on my case to open up, share my feelings, all that bullshit. Ain't that right, Sammy," he knocks on the side of the house, "I know you're listening in. You like what you've heard?"

"Of course he doesn't, Dean!" Meesh insists.

"Oh yeah? So why hasn't he come out here and told me himself?" He waits for an answer from Meesh, but gets none. His eyes then drift to the window to see if Sam will open up and say something, but the window stays shut. He has no way of knowing that Sam is actually at the front door, frozen stiff by his overwhelming emotions as he struggles to come up with the right words to set Dean straight. But his tongue remains tied, and Sam hangs his head in defeat. Outside, Dean feels his point has been made by their lack of reaction, so he closes his eyes. "And that's the truth," he sums up.

"No, that's the perceived truth from someone who has grown up feeling like he was never good enough," Meesh protests. Dean grumbles something under his breath, and Meesh stands tall on his knee. "I wish I'd known your father, Dean. I would've punched some sense into his thick head a long time ago."

"It wouldn't've done any good," Dean counters. "Dad didn't take orders, he gave them."

"So if your father would've ordered you to think about your own wellbeing for a change, would you have done it?" Dean opens his eyes and glares at her. "Answer the question, dammit! Why can't you see yourself in a better light? Why don't you ever try and put yourself at the front of the line?"

Storm clouds close in over Dean's demeanor, lightning flickering in his eyes. "You don't get it," he growls. "When I put myself first, people get hurt."

"Dean…"

"When I was a kid and let myself have one night off to play videogames, Sammy nearly got killed by a shtriga." Dean very slowly starts to grow. "When I was playing tag with a reaper, Dad traded his life for mine. He DIED for me, Meesh. And when I couldn't live with Sam being dead, I did the same thing, and for WHAT? All I did was piss him off and make him live every damn day in fear and worry as my time ran out. I brought him back so he could suffer! All so I wouldn't be alone. How fucked up is that?" Meesh tries to speak, but Dean gives her a very dark glare. "NO," he thunders. "Save it. I don't deserve any sympathy. They were MY mistakes, and people got hurt. FACT." He looks at the sky again, shaking his head in his fury. "And you know what? None of those even compare with the Grand Finale: what I did downstairs. That's right, Sammy," he thumps his elbow hard into the wall, making the siding crack (and his eavesdropping brother jump back), "I'm bitching about Hell again! Better call Ruby and complain!"

"What are you talking about?" Meesh shouts. "Trading lives…Sam dying…Hell? You can't possibly mean—"

"Yeah, Meesh, Hell. The Pit. I sold my soul to save Sam, and they gave me one year before the hellhounds came and made me their new chew toy." Meesh looks stricken, but Dean is too riled up to really care. "Don't look so damn surprised. You worked with the supernatural at that secret base for all those years—you know what's out there, what's really real. Turns out Hell is just as real." He looks away and adds quietly, "But it's a lot worse than you could ever imagine."

She swallows hard, overwhelmed by Dean's admission. "H-how…how long were you down there?"

"Four months up here. Forty years down there." He turns away when he sees tears streaming down Meesh's face. "Don't cry for me. I only made it through 30 years before they broke me." He nods, forever embittered by his weakness. "Thirty fucking pathetic years. And then I got off that rack cos I couldn't take it anymore. I put myself first, and you know what happened those last ten years? I turned into a monster and doomed the fucking world!" He grabs her, sets her on the ground, and stands up. "So no, Meesh, I don't think it's EVER good to think about my wellbeing, because I don't fucking deserve to be well!" He kicks Bobby's garbage can into the wild blue yonder. "DAMMIT, I need a drink!"

Dean thuds around the house, spies his remaining beer on the porch, and shrinks down without thinking about it; he needs a beer that badly. The opened one is emptied in no time, and Dean quickly unscrews another, gulping it down as well. By now, Meesh has run around to the front of the house. She frowns at him, and he leers back.

"Don't like it, don't watch." He takes another long drink, and his body starts to tremble. He shuts his eyes tight and tries to stop, but it only gets worse.

"Do you need to grow again?" Meesh asks, but it grates on Dean's nerves, like she's asking her baby boy if he needs to go potty.

"I'm FINE. It'll pass."

"GOD you're stubborn."

He grins, though his body keeps shaking. "Bobby's never bitched about the Winchester's best trait?"

"Oh he bitches all right," she admits, sitting down next to him, but when Dean looks at her, she adds, "in his own loving way." Dean laughs, and his trembling seems to get worse. She puts an arm around his shoulders to support him. "He's worried about you boys. So am I."

Dean's shaking hand lifts the beer to his lips, but he has to add his other hand to steady himself enough to take a sip. He sees Meesh's face of concern and waves it off. "Don't worry about us. Worry about Ruby."

"Oh, you mean that Jezebel that was trying to pass herself off as the girl next door?" Meesh grins, and Dean snickers and nods.

"A lot of things piss me off, but she is at the top of the list." He looks down at his boot. "Should've smooshed her when I had the chance."

"Sam seems to trust her…"

"Yeah, he does. She saved his life while I was downstairs, but…" Dean takes a few more shaky drinks of his beer. "I can't trust her. I KNOW she's up to something. I can feel it in my gut. It scares me."

"Ruby scares you?" Meesh presses.

"NO, Ruby doesn't fucking scare me," he growls. Another sip of beer, and he clears his throat. "What scares me is the not knowing. I never know where she's gonna be, or when she's gonna take Sam away again. Drives me up the fuckin' wall. It's like I'm constantly bracing myself to find him gone."

"But he always comes back, right?"

"So far. But how long is it gonna last, Meesh?" He looks at her, eyes pleading for an answer, but Meesh has none to give. Dean sighs. "Cas keeps warning me that Sam's heading down a dark path, and I know that Ruby's the one showing him the way. I don't know where it ends, but if the angels are that freaked, I'm guessing it ain't Disney World at the end of the road." He passes his bottle from one hand to the other, distracted by his fears. "One of these days he's gonna stay gone, I know it—either cos of something she says or something I do. That's why I can't screw up anymore. That's why I have to get this growing bullshit under control."

"Hence why you fight against growing when you feel it coming: you think that Sam's gonna think you're weak and leave you behind."

"He already thinks I'm weak," Dean murmurs. "Told me so himself. Told me all I do is hold him back. I don't want him to be right." He looks up at the roof of the porch as he finishes off his beer. "And Goddammit, I don't want to be left behind again."

His body starts to sway, and Meesh puts another arm on him to keep him propped up. "Dean? Are you all right?"

He doesn't answer. His trembles have become shakes, and he's breathing hard. Meesh pounds on the front door. "Sam! I need you!"

Dean is vaguely aware of the rigamarole around him, but his head is swimming and his heart is pounding for release against his rib cage. He knows he isn't drunk. Nowhere near it—not off of three beers. Somewhere to his left he hears his name, and a third hand attaches itself to Dean's back. He tries to turn, but he's so dizzy now, and his limbs are like putty. The world does a somersault, and Dean face-plants into the porch, dropping into darkness...

* * *

When Bobby gets back, he opens the front door and smacks into a wall of noise. Sam and Meesh are in his face and talking at the same time. He has to hold his hands to his ears to get them to shut up, and when they do, he scowls at both of them.

"One at a time, kiddies," he grunts.

"Something's wrong with Dean," Sam informs him, already leading Bobby into the den, where Dean is lying on the couch.

"We don't know what happened," Meesh adds right away. "We were having a talk. He told me a little bit about…Hell." She swallows hard as Bobby and Sam's eyes grow wide. "A-and he got angry…very angry. Grew pretty big, too. But then he came back to the front of the house and was back to normal just like that. He was drinking beer one second and then he was just…out."

"How many did he have?"

"Three." Sam points to the empty bottles, and Bobby moves over to take a look.

"I already checked for residue," Meesh tells Bobby. "They're clean."

"On the inside, maybe…" Bobby takes two of the bottles, one empty and one unopened, into his office, Meesh and Sam right on his heels. He opens a cabinet and grabs a small pouch. He takes a pinch of pink powder out of it and sprinkles it over both bottles. Within seconds, they're glowing toxic green.

"Hexed," Bobby announces. "Beer's safe, but the bottle's not. Here," he motions for them to come over. "Rub your hands in this and then wash them off. It'll neutralize the poison."

"Poison?" Sam repeats. "Dean has been poisoned?"

"Through his skin, yeah. You two probably didn't touch them long enough to get hurt, but can't be too careful." He waits until both Sam and Meesh have thoroughly cleaned their hands with the pink powder and water, and then he follows suit.

"So the question is, who would poison Dean?" Sam wonders. "And why? And HOW, for that matter? All the wards around here should keep pretty much everything out." Both Bobby and Meesh are looking at him, and he frowns. "What?" It dawns on him, and he rolls his eyes. "It wasn't Ruby."

"You sure about that?" Bobby says. "Cos it seems pretty coincidental that Dean got sick just minutes after Ruby dropped by to say howdy-doo."

"She wouldn't poison Dean," Sam insists. They still just look at him, and he stands tall. "She WOULDN'T, all right? They don't exactly like each other, but come on—what would she have to gain by hurting Dean?"

"Uh, you all to herself?" Meesh points out. Sam opens his mouth to argue, but Bobby cuts in first.

"Was she near the beer at any time?" Bobby's eyes narrow as Sam hesitates to answer. "Sam?"

"She might've…taken a drink from Dean's bottle." Now Meesh and Bobby look at each other, and Sam gets irritated. "Look, it wasn't her, I know it. For all she knew, I could've taken the next beer! Why would she try to hurt me?"

The other two think on this a minute before Bobby finally concedes, "All right, one point to you. But it's still pretty fishy."

Meesh nods. "Let's just focus on getting him well for now." She leads them back to Dean, who is still out cold. She puts her hand on his forehead and frowns. "He's getting feverish. I think I'm going to run over to my office and pick up a few things." She's already up and almost out the door by the time her sentence is complete. "Bobby, Sam, make sure he stays cool. I'll be back in a few."

As she drives away, Bobby stands up. "I'm gonna check on the wards, make sure they're all still up to snuff. You gonna be all right on your own a few minutes?" Sam nods, and Bobby takes his leave. Sam sits down next to the couch and watches his brother with worry.

_Should've been out there,_ he berates himself. _Should've told him he was wrong—I don't think he's a disappointment at all! But I didn't go. I couldn't. Shit, _he jabs the edge of the couch, _if anyone's a disappointment, it's me. _He shakes his head. _No big surprise there…_

Dean lets out a cranky moan, and the mental whip lashing in Sam's mind ceases at once as concern takes over. "I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispers. He soothes Dean's hair back from his forehead, exactly as Dean has done for Sam countless times in their lives, and he peers down at Dean's face. Far from peaceful, it's instead troubled: lips pressed and forehead creased as his features comment on the situation while he's asleep. Sam thinks back to the conversation he overheard and wonders what he missed when they moved to the front porch. He'd tried to keep listening, but the front door was too thick. Sam wonders what else Dean admitted. Now he'll never know. And the poison keeping Dean down and out isn't exactly helping matters.

'Poison,' Sam can just hear Dean scoff. 'Can you believe this, Sammy? Poison!' He'd shake his head and add, 'I've made a lot of enemies over the years, but trying to kill me with the evils of Glam Metal? That's just mean! Ugh, my ears are already bleeding, and they haven't even played one fucking note of "Unskinny Bop" yet'.

Sam smirks at his brother's lame joke in his imagination, feeling the same way about their latest weird problem. Poison. Sam can't believe it, either. _Who would poison Dean, anyway?_ he wonders. _Using poison is such a human thing. Demons don't use poison. And it's not like there are basilisks or any other poisonous monsters wandering around Bobby's salvage yard..._

The word "monster" triggers a mental replay of Dean's words from earlier:

_I turned into a monster and doomed the fucking world!_

"Doomed the world…" Sam searches every corner of his memory to see if Dean has ever said anything about that before. He hasn't. _Probably just Dean being hard on himself again, _Sam decides—or tries to, at least. A nagging feeling deep inside has him doubting his own logic. What had Dean really done those last 10 years down there? Dean won't talk about it, and Sam hasn't let himself imagine, too scared of what he'd come up with. What if Dean did something terrible? Something so huge, so unspeakable, that it really DID doom the world? _And what if someone found out…_ Sam looks at the beer bottle. _And tried to kill Dean as retribution?_

Sam gets to his feet at once. "Bobby!" he calls, knowing the hunter is somewhere in the house. "We need to check your surveillance. NOW."

* * *

Over the rest of the afternoon, Sam and Bobby go on full security detail. Bobby goes over every ward on his property while Sam pours over surveillance video—and finds nothing. No one besides Bobby, Meesh, Dean, Ruby, and himself were in the salvage yard all last night and today. He then turned to invisibility spells, and is now cross referencing with supernatural creatures and poison. He's only come up with a handful of possibilities so far, and they are real straw graspers at best.

Now Sam looks at his watch: 4:04. He gets up to check on Dean again. Meesh had hooked his brother up to a saline IV (blessed with holy water by Bobby), and Dean's body slurped it right up—but he didn't wake. Dean is now on bag number two, and Meesh is sitting on the chair next to him, working on a crossword puzzle.

"Any change?" Sam asks.

"No, sorry. His color is much better, but he's still out. At least he's dreaming now." She points to Dean's eyes, closed shut but bulging with movement. "That's a good sign," she assures Sam. "Shouldn't be too long now before he's awake and asking for a little gastronomical comfort."

Sam smiles and bends down to give Meesh a hug. "Thanks. For everything." She pats and rubs his back in reply. Then she stands up as Sam pulls away.

"Suppose I should get started on those pork chops." Dean's stomach rumbles right then, and Sam and Meesh laugh. "Well I guess you should get thinking," Meesh smiles as he heads toward the kitchen.

"About?"

"What you boys are gonna cook ME tomorrow. This happy hostess crap doesn't come for free y'know!" She looks at him to show she means it, and Sam salutes. Meesh disappears into the kitchen, and Sam smiles at his brother again.

"You going to wake up and make your famous pancakes, or do I have to make a Perkins run?" Sam asks him. His phone rings in reply. Sam looks at who is calling and rolls his eyes as he lifts it to his ear. "What?"

"Demons are at Bobby's doorstep," Ruby says. "Just thought you'd like to know."

Sam rushes to the window, phone pressed to his ear, but all he sees are approaching storm clouds, fat with rain. "Where?"

"Well they're not THERE-there yet, but they're on the way."

"How do you know?"

"Same way I always now. Now get out here. I'm at the end of Bobby's driveway."

Sam hesitates, looking at Dean. "Can't you do this one on your own?"

"I don't know, Sam, do you want to take that risk? If I fail, you'll have a demon posse on your ass!"

"All right, all right. Hang on." Sam shuts his phone and heads to the door. "Be right back, Meesh," he calls, keeping it vague so he can make a faster getaway. But Meesh hears the door open and close, so she peers out the window and spots Sam tearing off toward the salvage yard's entrance. Ominous thunder rolls in the distance, and she sighs.

"Nothing like setting the mood…" She channels her worry into stirring the mashed potatoes.

* * *

Dean is in a zoo. A zoo for freaks and monsters, complete with humans strolling by and taking pictures of the captive beasts. There's a swamp monster, reanimated corpses, every kind of sewer mutant, and a sleeping yeti, but Dean towers over them all—literally the biggest freak around. A large crowd has gathered around him, none of them taller than his ankle, and they're all looking up at his huge body with a mix of awe and fear.

"What is this?" Dean asks them. People start snapping pictures as he walks over to the front of the cage. "Who put me in here?"

A little boy starts jumping up and down. "Mommy, he can TAWK!"

"Yes, dear. Some of the freaks here are just smart enough to speak."

Dean nods slowly. "Oh, I get it. Very funny, Alastair." He looks around for his old nemesis but doesn't find him. Then something hits him in the shin, and he looks to his right. A female zookeeper is tossing in slabs of raw meet from a small doorway in the corner. Much to Dean's embarrassment, his stomach growls.

"Come and get it, Dean sweetie!" she coos. "T-bone steaks, your favorite!" Dean gets down on one knee and picks up a few pieces of the meat. They smell awful. He backhands the pile clear across the floor.

"I'm NOT an animal," he growls. The zookeeper, unafraid, simply tsks him.

"Keep that up and there'll be no pie tonight!" She wags her finger at him before she brushes her hand over the toe of his boot. "Later sweetie!" She shuts the door and locks it.

"He not hungy for meats, Mommy," that same little boy says. "Maybe he want peanuts?" The boy starts throwing little pudgy handfuls of peanuts at Dean, and other gawkers soon join him. Dean gets up and rattles his cage. The entire crowd jumps back as one.

"GO AWAY!" he bellows. They don't—in fact, the picture taking triples now that Dean is standing right in front of them. But the little boy is wailing from Dean's outburst, and his heart goes out to him. He kneels down and reaches out two fingers. "Hey…I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to scare you." The little boy wipes his eyes, smiling when the giant smiles back at him. But the boy's mother grabs her son and holds him behind her.

"Stay away from him, you monster!"

She marches him through the crowd, though most of the people don't notice, too busy taking more snapshots. Dean winces as a headache forms, and he turns his back on them all and sits down on the left side of his cage, leaning his head against the thick bars.

"See? He's fine, Sam," Ruby's voice says from somewhere. "Just like I told you."

Dean looks down and finds Ruby and Sam looking back up at him. Sam is holding a huge plastic cup of something pink, and Ruby is licking an ice cream cone.

"Sammy?" Dean turns so he's facing them.

"Hi, Dean," Sam replies, forcing a smile. "How's my big brother today?"

"How am I—? Sam, LOOK at me! I'm in a damn cage in a zoo! Help me get out of here!"

Sam shakes his head and gives him a pouty look. "Now Dean, you know we can't do that. You're too dangerous to be outside anymore."

"What? Since when?"

"Since you became a big giant freak, you big giant freak!" Ruby answers. Dean glares at her.

"So this was your idea."

"No, Dean. It was mine." Sam now has his disappointment front and center, and he sighs as Dean looks at him in disbelief. "We've been over this. You're too big…too much! You're screwing up all the time and making everything worse, and I don't…I can't live like this anymore, Dean! Everyone's counting on me to be my best, and you…" Sam shakes his head at him. "You just keep getting in the way."

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. "What are you saying?"

"He's saying he's sick of cleaning up all the shit you keep crapping out," Ruby snarks. Dean reaches to grab her and shut that damn mouth up for good, but the bars are too narrow. "Aww, Deanie mad? Deanie wanna hurt me?" She licks her cone and smiles. "Just more proof that you have to stay locked up. C'mon Sam." She walks off, but Sam remains, looking up at Dean with pity.

Dean sits on his knees and bows forward until he's almost lying flat, curling his fingers around the bars as he peers out at his little brother. "Sam, I'm begging you—PLEASE tell me this is a joke." Sam starts to speak, but Dean talks over him. "You starting up the Prank Wars again? Fine, great! You win. You're the All-Time Champ, all right? Now let me out of here."

"It's not a joke, Dean," Sam tells him. Dean shakes his head, still not wanting to believe it, but Sam remains serious. "I'm sorry it's come to this, man. I really am. But it's for your own good, Dean. You know that, right?"

"No, Sammy, I should be out there with you. I'm supposed to take care of you!"

"But you can't. Not the way you are now. It was bad enough when you came back from Hell all weak and whiny, but then you got bit by that hydros and all your problems just grew right with you." Sam steps right up to the bars and asks, "You honestly expect me to just drop everything and help you through your shortcomings?"

"You said you wanted to stay," Dean reminds him. "That night in the cornfield, remember? You said you wanted to help me!"

Sam sighs. "I was humoring you. This constantly running back to you every time you get into trouble thing has to stop. I have important work to do, and I can't get it done with you around. The world needs me, Dean—ME. Not you. You're too much of a burden."

"But Sam—"

"Just stop, okay? You're embarrassing me." He checks his watch as tears roll down his brother's face. If Sam even notices them, he doesn't show any sign that he gives a damn. "All right. Time for me to go, Dean. I've got work to do."

"No," Dean begs. "Don't do this. Don't leave me here!"

"You'll be FINE, Dean. It's safe, it's clean, and the people here will take good care of you." Sam puts his small hand on one of Dean's white knuckles. "Goodbye, Dean." He walks away.

"No…Sam!" Dean gets to his feet, but Sam just keeps walking; he doesn't even look back. Ruby joins him, putting a supportive hand on his back, and leads him away. Dean hits his cage wall with his fists. "NO! Don't leave! SAAAM!" They disappear into the crowd. Dean backs up and runs full tilt at the bars, ramming them with his shoulder. The bars bend but don't break. Dean snarls in fury, grows bigger, and rams them again and again until they finally give way. Sirens sound all around the zoo, and the crowds scatter into a panic. Dean just looks for his brother.

"Sammy?" He steps over the swamp thing's habitat and cups his hands around his mouth. "SAM!" No answer, save for screams from retreating zoo-goers. Dean runs till he gets to the front gate, where the zookeepers have all gathered. Bobby and Meesh are among them for some reason, and Bobby is holding a cattle prod up and waving it around.

"DEAN! Can you hear me?" Bobby shouts.

"Where's Sam?" Dean barks down at him.

"I don't know."

"Gotta find him. Gotta tell him I'm sorry!" Dean steps over the zookeepers, ignoring the sting of the cattle prod as it hits him in the leg.

Bobby and Meesh watch him go, standing at the salvage yard's gates and newly broken electric fence as Dean thuds away, already 30-feet tall and growing. Bobby lowers the broom he'd been waving to get Dean's attention.

"He's sleepwalking, I'm sure of it," Meesh says.

Bobby looks back at the big Dean-shaped hole in the side of his house and grunts a few swears under his breath. Then he sighs through his nose and nods. "Well I'd better wake him up before he makes the evening news. You stay here in case he comes back, all right?"

She kisses him on the cheek. "Be careful."

"Stay sweet," he replies. Then he runs over to his Chevelle and takes off, while Meesh goes back inside the house.

Meanwhile, about five miles down the road in the opposite direction, Sam and Ruby are standing in a self-made roadblock consisting of her car and the two of them. A storm is swiftly approaching from the west—no rain yet, but the winds have picked up, thrashing the tall grasses in the fields around them.

"Here." Ruby hands Sam a flask. "Brought you a liquid lunch."

Sam unscrews the cap and takes a sniff. "Demon blood?"

"Freshly squeezed." She points to the cut across her arm. "Drink up, Cowboy. They're coming."

A pair of headlights appears on the road before them. Sam can feel the demons' dark energy even from this distance: they're powerful. He can't let them get to Bobby's—to Dean, lying helpless on the couch. So Sam tips the flask back and drinks up. His own dark energy lights up at once, and power flows through his veins and alights every nerve. Sam smiles. Ruby smiles right back.

"Go get 'em, tiger." She pushes him forward, and Sam stands in the middle of the road, more than ready. He holds his hand out and throws his will at the approaching car. Five sparks of light burst into view within the vehicle, and they hear screaming in the distance. Sam shuts his eyes…and pulls. The car speeds up, charging at them. Ruby pulls on Sam's arm to get him to move, but he shrugs her off.

"Just watch the show," he tells her, eyes still shut. Sam clenches his fist, and every window in the car breaks. Sam opens his eyes and smirks. The car swerves and runs off the road, flipping several times until it comes to rest in a field. Sam and Ruby walk toward them as the demons try and escape.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam asks. He doesn't give them a chance to answer: another burst of his demon-blood-powered will sends the demonic smoke into the ground, where it turns to ash as the evil entities burn and die. Sam releases his fist and buckles at the waist. Ruby supports him as he gulps in air.

"Are you all right?" Sam nods at her question, and she rubs his back. "Sam…that was AMAZING. You are getting so fucking good at this!"

He stands up straight. "No headache, either."

She beams at him. "Told you you'd get used to it. TOLD you you'd be great! And look," she points to the smoldering ground, "you're incredible!" She stands back and admires him. "Aren't you glad you came out here and showed them who's boss?"

Sam gives a little, bashful laugh and scratches behind his neck. "It was pretty cool. Dean would've loved seeing the car flip…" His voice trails off as he thinks about Dean. _Yeah, the Evel Knievel stuff would've made him happy,_ his conscience agrees. _But the demon blood? Not so much._

"Hey." Ruby gives his shoulder a little punch. "Don't second guess this, all right? You did GREAT, Sam. You should be proud of yourself. You killed demons and kept your family safe, all by yourself! If that doesn't earn you a gold star, I don't know what will."

Sam nods. "Thanks, Ruby."

The rain clouds finally split open above them, and they run for cover in her car. As soon as they shut the door, Sam hears his phone ringing in his pocket. He opens it up and finds he's missed 11 calls. _Oh shit._ He flips it open at once before he misses another one. "Hello?"

"Sam, where ARE you?" Bobby yells in his ear.

"Not far from your place, why? Is Dean okay?"

"NO, he's huge and sleepwalking and looking for you!"

Sam blinks a few times as he processes that. "Since when does Dean sleepwalk?" he wonders aloud.

"Since a few minutes ago! He's in a neighborhood and if you don't get over here—" Lightning strikes and the rest of his conversation cuts in and out. "Hurting pretty bad…winds nearly…and then…okay? Hurry up!"

"What? Bobby, I didn't get all that."

"I'll text you directions. Just get here!"

Sam hangs up and waits for the text. "So?" Ruby asks him, and Sam starts; he'd forgotten she was even in the car with him.

"It's Dean. He's in trouble."

Ruby snorts. "Big surprise."

Sam ignores her as the text comes in. "I need you to drop me off…"

* * *

A few minutes later and they're in suburbia. Tornado sirens are blaring all around, as trees struggle to stay rooted to the ground despite the gusting winds. A power line snaps, and Ruby swerves to miss the sparking cables.

"Just let me out here!" Sam yells over the noise.

"Are you insane? It's a death trap out there!"

"Yeah, and Dean's somewhere in it!" Sam gets out as the car is still rolling to a stop. Ruby grabs his arm and makes him wait.

"Dean can take care of himself!"

"I know, but I'm going anyway!" He pulls his arm free. "He'd do the same for me!" With that, he shuts the door. Ruby hightails it out of there, and Sam gets his flashlight out. Little good that it does him—most of the power is now out in this small neighborhood, and his thin beam can barely penetrate the sheets of rain all around him. He moves forward at a labored pace, wind and rain keeping him from moving too fast, and only when the lightning strikes is he able to see where he's going.

Suddenly the ground gives way, and Sam trips and falls into a depression in someone's soggy lawn. The lightning illuminates the details: a round wall behind him, and a straight edge at the front. Sam knows this shape. _Just like the heel of a really big boot._ He climbs out of the partial boot print and runs on, ducking through people's yards and gardens as he follows the trail.

"Dean!" His yell is swallowed by the storm, but he keeps trying. "Dean! DEEEAN!"

And then he hears a faint call in the distance: "Saaaaam!"

Sam turns toward it. "DEAN? Where are you?" He waits for a reply, and after a few tense seconds, he hears it again.

"Saaaam!" It's hoarse and laced with melancholia, but definitely Dean. Sam veers between two houses, runs past the pair behind them, and comes upon a cul-de-sac. Bobby is on the other side, yelling at Dean, who is standing in the driveway. He's about 80-feet tall again, and he looks miserable—and not just due to being completely drenched head to toe. He's pale, he's shivering, and he looks incredibly sad. Sam is floored at the sight. He's never, ever seen his brother looking so down.

"Where are you Sammy?" Dean asks, sounding a bit like a little boy. Before Sam gets a chance to respond, Dean breaks the roof off a two-story house as easy as lifting the cover from a cookie jar. Sam is dumbfounded, and he prays that the family is in the basement due to the storm so they won't see any of this. "Sammy?" Dean asks again, peering inside. "Please come out, Sammy. Please? I know you're mad at me but…just…please, Sammy, let me know you're okay." He sets the roof back down, visibly discouraged.

"DEAN!" Sam runs forward, and Bobby, Meesh, and Dean all turn to him as one.

"Sammy?" Dean asks softly. Sam runs past Meesh and Bobby as he gets to the driveway, and then he walks slowly toward his brother.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm here." He smiles up at Dean, but Dean doesn't seem to see him. He looks awake, but his eyes are vacant, staring into nothing. Then he remembers Meesh mentioning sleepwalking, so he waits patiently as Dean creeps toward him—a shy giant in front of a full-scale dollhouse.

"Sammy? You…you came back!" He sounds so happy…so RELIEVED. But then his smile drops again, and he looks afraid. "Are you gonna stay?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm staying. But first we have to get out of the rain, all right?"

"Okay," Dean nods. Then he reaches down, picks Sam up, and holds him up to his cheek, careful not to crush him as he nuzzles and hugs him. Sam endures it—at least Dean's big hands provide warmth in the chilly rain. But then his hair flies straight up as Dean starts…sniffing him. And if that isn't the weirdest sensation Sam has ever felt. But Dean speaks up before Sam can even wriggle in discomfort.

"Are you hurt, Sammy?"

"No, Dean, I'm fine." But his giant brother looks him over anyway.

"But you smell like blood," Dean tells him, still looking worried. Sam swallows hard as he tries to remember if he spilled any demon blood on his shirt. He's 99% sure he didn't. That doesn't keep him from being nervous anyway.

"I'm FINE, Dean, I swear, okay?" He gives Dean a big smile, and is relieved when Dean smiles, too. "Are YOU okay, Dean?" Sam asks, both because he wants to know and because he wants the spotlight off him.

"I'm just so glad you came back!" Dean's voice breaks with emotion, and as Sam looks up, alarmed, a big fat tear drops onto his head. "I swear I'll do better, Sam. I'll give 300 percent. I won't be a burden, I won't hold you back. I'll work extra hard, I promise! You won't have to worry about me at ALL."

Sam doesn't know what to think of all this, so he just pats Dean's thumb. "Dean, it's OKAY."

"I won't fuck up again," Dean cries back, like he didn't even hear what Sam just told him. "I'm sorry I got bitten by the hydros, I'm sorry I broke the first seal, but I won't make any more mistakes EVER!"

Sam is floored by Dean's admission. "You…what?" Dean just keeps apologizing, and Sam puts his hands out to Dean's face to get him to stop for a moment. Sam swallows hard when Dean looks at him like he's about to be executed. "What do you mean you broke the first seal?" Sam asks.

Dean doesn't get a chance to answer: lightning strikes a tree, and it falls and lands right on his toes. He's awake at once. "OW! Son of a—" He looks around as his mind unfuzzes. He's definitely not at Bobby's place anymore. "Where…?"

"Dean?"

Dean looks down and finds Sam in his hands, Bobby at his feet, and rain everywhere else. "Somebody mind telling me why the hell we're out here getting soaked?"

The storm replies instead. Hail pours down from the sky, more power lines snap, and a shed behind someone's house breaks away. "Holy shit!" Dean grabs Bobby and looks around for Meesh, but he doesn't see her. "Meesh? Meesh!"

"She's back at the house!" Bobby yells back. Lightning strikes a little too close for comfort, and turns to run, but the winds are so strong that even Dean's giant body is having trouble moving forward. And then he sees it: a tornado, black as night and heading west.

Right in the direction of Bobby's house.

"Shit. SHIT!" Dean grows until he's large enough to overpower the gale-force winds. Then he's off and running, holding Sam and Bobby close to his chest, on either side of his now car-sized amulet.

"What're you…doing…Dean?" Bobby yells, fighting to speak despite the pressure from Dean's huge body moving all around him.

"Getting back to your house before the tornado does." He looks down at Bobby and isn't surprised to get a small glare back. "What? There's no way I'm letting some damn twister take away your home, Bobby! Especially not with Meesh still inside!" Sam yells something behind Dean's fingers, and it's only then that Dean realizes he even had his fingers over his brother's face. He moves them apart. "What?"

"I SAID, what good are you gonna be to Meesh if YOU get killed trying to save her?"

"What's that Sammy? I can't hear you!" Dean puts his fingers over Sam again while his brother tries to repeat what Dean heard perfectly fine. Bobby starts in on Dean a second later, so Dean tucks both of his cranky passengers under his arms and pushes on. They're back in less than a minute thanks to Dean's crazy-long strides. Meesh runs out onto the porch as Dean sets Bobby and Sam down, but his huge hand pushes them all back inside. He feels them open the door and pound against his fingers to let them out, so he keeps his hand over it.

"Will you quit bitching at me and get in the basement already?" Dean yells over the noise. He's sure they're yelling back at him, but even his giant ears can't make out what they say over the clatter of hailstones hitting scrap metal and lightning bolts scorching the land. Dean locates the tornado. It's grown and is still on a collision course with Bobby's place.

"You're not the only one that can grow," Dean snarls at it. "Watch this." He grows and grows and grows until he's big enough to cover the house, the driveway, and about half of the salvage yard itself. He grins in satisfaction…until he realizes he's still growing…and growing…and growing. _What the…stop! STOP! _His panic only makes him grow faster. He steps over the house before his boots plow through it, and he grabs his car and watches it shrink in his hand: Hot Wheels to Micro Machine to Lego to the teeny cars in the board game _Life_ to half THAT size. The expansion finally stops at that point, and Dean holds his palm up as close as he can to his eyes without the tiny object blurring. His beautiful baby looks more like a sliver in his skin than a car.

Dean is so stunned that even his inner critic is silent for once. He just can't comprehend how he can be THIS big…even more ginormous than he was in Chicago! And there's no pain…absolutely none. He's just a modern-day colossus standing in South Dakota, and it was so easy…so effortless. Dean swallows his extreme unease as he takes in the world from this height. The fields below him are a patchwork quilt. The scrapped vehicles in Bobby's yard are multicolored, metallic shavings. And the house…

_Son of a bitch, I can't even SEE the house. _But he does see something else: the tornado. It's nearly upon him, and even though Dean is now the definition of huge, the force of nature dwarfs him. So Dean bends down slowly, carefully, watching for the house he knows is going to be very small. But when he sees it, he still can't believe it's THAT small—only about the size of a baby's building block. The microscopic front door is closed, and he prays that his family finally got some sense in their heads and is locked safely within the panic room. He eases himself onto his left side just as the hail lets up, replaced by winds that lift up the crushed cars at the extremes of the salvage yard and toss them across the landscape. The tornado blasts through Bobby's neighbor's fence. Dean only has seconds.

_Cover, don't crush, _he orders himself as he lays down almost flat over the entire salvage yard. He digs the toes of his boots in deep into the fields, and he props himself up by his forearms over the tiny house, letting his enormous hands shield the Impala and Bobby's Chevelle from damage. It's black as night now. Everything from trees to fences to the broken RV Dean once hid behind hit the giant body, tearing gashes and leaving bruises, but Dean doesn't let any of it break his concentration.

_Cover, don't crush._

The tornado tears into Bobby's yard, and Dean holds on tight.

_Cover, don't CRUSH!_

The overwhelming pressure fluctuations plug and pop his ears until they bleed, while the wind crushes him as a bulldozer, stealing the air from his lungs as it fights to sap his strength. _Do your worst, you son of a bitch! _he yells at it in his mind._ I won't let go! _The tornado roars back, shoving the giant over and over as it fights for its prize, but Dean refuses to be moved. _You've taken everything else away from me! _Dean yells at God, Fate, Mother Nature—whomever might be listening. _I am NOT letting you take them too, you hear me? Not this time!_

And all at once, it's over. The tornado moves on for another half mile before it weakens and dissipates. The rain is still coming down, lit up by the occasional bolt of lightning, but it's all so much quieter now that Dean wonders for a moment if he's gone deaf. He pushes away from the ground. All kinds of items blown in by the storm fall off his back as he sits up and brushes himself off. Then he rests on his hands and knees as he looks down and around. _It's all still there_. He smiles as he confirms it. Everything. Every last piece in the yard is right where it should be, and the house is standing tall, like nothing happened.

_I did it. I actually, fucking did it! _Dean's so relieved that he starts to laugh. Unfortunately, his laughter at this size is enough to start a small earthquake, and for Bobby, Meesh, and Sam, who are all running up the stairs from the basement, it's a harrowing experience. They hang on to the railing as their bodies are slammed into either side of the staircase walls.

"What the hell is that now?" Bobby yells.

"I don't know!" Meesh yells back. Another set of tremors rattles the house, and she loses her footing. Sam catches her by the arm and pulls her back upright.

"Hang on, I'm gonna go check!" He steps over the remaining three steps with his long legs and stumbles onto the main floor. The house keeps rolling and shaking, but the noise sounds different up here. _It almost sounds like…no. He'd have to be the size of a mountain for that to be true… _

And for some reason, Sam already knows it is true. And to be honest, it scares him. A lot. But he makes his way to the front door and has a look outside the house. "Dean?" The laughing earthquake lets up, replaced by a sky-scraping throat clearing. Sam looks up, but instead of any sort of storm clouds, he sees flannel. And he KNOWS the colors of that flannel.

"**HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE A CRUMB**," the voice of God—well, his God-sized brother—blasts across the salvage yard. Above Sam, the flannel sky creases in areas, and the squares turn clockwise as the entire covering starts to bend and fold. Sam races back inside.

"NOW what?" is all Bobby manages to gripe as Sam whooshes past him and runs up the stairs to the second floor. He heads into the spare room with the window that faces east, and he heaves the window open and leans his head outside.

"Dean? I'm up here now! Do you see me?"

"Getting there," the whisper of God—much easier on the ears—replies. The flannel outside is moving steadily downward. There's a flash of gold as an enormous amulet passes by. Then a field of peach sinks into view, flecked with golden-tan freckles bigger than Sam's hand. The movement closes with a fast green sunset: a starburst of emerald and moss in a circle about four times the size of the wall, eclipsed by a large, black moon in the front and red crackles in a white sky above and below. The moon widens, and Sam just stares, scared and amazed and not believing what he's seeing. He seems to read the same thing from the impossible sight in front of him.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispers as softly as he can. It still hits the house as a strong breeze, but it's much better than before. Sam looks up and sees Dean's other eye

_HOW can that be his eye?_

several yards above the one centered in front of the window. A seeming half mile above THAT, the new hilltop that is Dean's right shoulder shadows the house and everything around it. Sam focuses back on the eye, and the eye stares right back at him. Neither one of them moves or says a thing, not knowing how to keep their cool in this insane scenario. Then Dean's sideways eye narrows.

"You all right?"

Sam nods vigorously. "You're, ah…you're…"

"I know. Kinda overshot it this time."

"Yeah, you're…Jesus, Dean, you're…!" Sam just holds his hands out to indicate Dean—ALL of Planetoid Dean in front of him! The eye crinkles with humor, and Sam's wits finally come snapping back. "What the HELL were you thinking, Dean?"

"That someone had to save you three! Hey wait…" The pupil grows small as the iris blows wide. "You weren't up here the whole time, were you?" Dean whispers harshly. "You should've been in the basement!"

"We were! And YOU should've been there too!"

"But then the house would be gone, and we'd all probably be dead now!"

"And you thought risking your own life in a freaking TORNADO was a better option?"

"Yeah, I did!"

Sam shakes his head at him. "You're an idiot!"

"An idiot that just saved your lives," Dean grins. "Feel free to say thank you at any time, by the way."

Sam's mouth locks up for a moment; there are too many things he wants to yell, and they all want to come out right NOW. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and Sam smoothes them out as he tries to calm down. Then he notices the hairs on his arms standing at attention as well.

"Anyone got a giant dryer sheet?" Dean asks. "I'm all staticky out here."

Sam looks at him, looks back at his arm, and the warning alarms go off in his head. "Dean, get out of the yard, NOW."

"What? Why?"

A blinding flash of white light falls over the house, and a house-shaking BOOM follows a split-second later, sending Sam to the floor. He rubs at his eyes as he tries to see past the remaining glare, and he feels his way back to the window.

"Dean?" he calls, but he receives no answer. Sam forces his eyes open and squints at the surroundings. Dean is nowhere to be found.

Sam runs out the door and practically hurls himself down the stairs. Bobby and Meesh squint at the Sam-shaped blur as it runs past them and outside. "Sam?" Bobby calls, already going after him. "What's going on?"

"I think Dean just got struck by lightning," Sam says when they catch up to him.

"How do you know?" Meesh asks, already looking around through the lingering rain.

"There was static everywhere, and with all the scrap metal around here? Dean was like a giant lightning rod. And I mean GIANT—he was bigger than he's ever been! And you know how being huge makes him hurt—what would lightning do to him? Meesh?"

Meesh shakes her head. "I don't know, Sam, I'm sorry. It depends on whether he took a direct hit and whether the electricity went through his bones or passed over his skin. He could have anything from a minor burn to a fracture to a heart…attack…" She trails off when Sam's face goes white, and as he drags his hands through his hair, she rubs his back. "But I'm sure he'll be okay," she adds quickly. Sam nods his thanks as he struggles to keep his panic in check.

"We'll find him, Sam," Bobby promises. "Humongous body like that don't just disappear. He's gotta be around here somewhere." He turns away and yells, "Dean? DEAN, can you hear me? Where are ya?"

They all take his lead and start searching, calling Dean's name over and over. Minutes pass by with no answer, and their calls and searching get more frantic. It's difficult to move anywhere without stepping on something; the ground is covered in debris from the storm. Roof shingles, tree branches, a soccer ball wedged underneath the porch steps, a ladder bent nearly in half in the driveway, and someone's clothesline, complete with scraps of muddied clothes, is draped over the Impala.

"DEAN!" Sam calls, looking inside the car. No Dean. Sam breathes out a shaky sigh as he carefully frees the Impala from its laundry prison. He sets it down on the ground, and something catches his eye. He bends over and picks it up for a closer look.

"It can't be…"

He turns the tiny object this way and that, using his fingers to clear the dirt off, but it's the real deal. Dean's amulet, now smaller than a piece of gravel, sits in the palm of Sam's hand.

_And if the amulet is like this, then is Dean…?_ Sam kneels down and has a look under the car.

"Sam!" Meesh calls. "You find anything?"

"Yeah, but…you're not gonna believe this." Sam stands back up as Meesh and Bobby rush over to him. They stare at him with questions on their faces, so he lets what he's holding in his hands do all the answering for him. Meesh looks down and gasps, while Bobby looks down and rolls his eyes.

"Great," he grunts. "Juuuust great."

Dean rests in Sam's hands, no bigger than a Ken doll. He's deathly pale, covered in bruises and cuts, and out cold. Sam carefully turns him over, and they all wince at the large burn covering Dean's right shoulder and part of his back. Sam tries to lift the shirt away, but the fabric is stuck where charred shirt meets charred skin. Meesh leans in to listen for a heartbeat in the little chest, and Sam and Bobby hold their breath.

"He's alive," she reports. "Get him inside. We need to see to that burn immediately."

Bobby and Meesh take off, and Sam rolls Dean onto his back again and walks slow and careful toward the backdoor of the house. He shakes his head at the situation, the weirdness, the complete lack of luck in their lives…but mostly at Dean himself.

"Always have to be the big damn hero, don't you, Dean," he says, fond but worried sick. Meesh holds the door open for Sam, and he takes his little-big brother inside.


	5. Feeling Two Foot Small

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Another bad delay in posting again, I know, and I'm so sorry. Unfortunately, this is how it's going to be for quite some time. Work is very demanding and stressful right now, and I'm getting less and less time to write. So please bear with me—I promise I'll keep writing if you keep reading :) Thank you so much for the reviews and your feedback. Your encouragement and kind words keep me going. And as always, thanks to Katiki for being the bestest beta out there :)

Oh, and two reminders, since it's been a while: This story takes place after ep 4.16, and Dean got shrunk last chapter, hence the title, taken from one of my favorite Beatles' songs…

* * *

**Chapter Five: Feeling Two Foot Small**

_Never, EVER drinking that much again…_

It certainly wasn't the first time Dean told himself that. It also won't be the last. But for now, with his head pounding, back breaking, neck aching, and every last part of him steeped through and through with crapitude, Dean lets himself believe. He keeps his eyes shut, not ready to face the world. He needs coffee first, spiked with a heavy dose of codeine. Hell, he'd take a frying pan to the head at this point, damn the pain, just put him out of his misery!

"Dean?" Sam yells from somewhere.

"Mmmmnungh," Dean groans in reply. _Too loud, Sammy!_

"Back off, guys, you're gonna freak him out," Meesh bellows now, and Dean curls up from the noise.

"No, he'll freak if he doesn't see a friendly face," Bobby hollers back.

Dean puts his hands to his ears. _Why are they all yelling?_ Then he hears a shush, and he wants to marry the moment. "I think we're hurting him," he hears Sam say, much more quietly this time, and Dean is very grateful.

"…Sammy," he mumbles as he opens his eyes, but his vision is all blurry. "Ungh… what…?" _Happened? Where'd we go last night? Why'd you let me drink so much?_ he wants to ask, but his mouth doesn't want to work; his vocabulary has been momentarily reduced to "Sammy" and "what."

"You're all right, Dean. You're at Bobby's. How do you feel?"

"Like roadkill." _Hey, two more words! _As Dean struggles to sit up, he feels someone help him. But then the comforting weight leaves his back, and he's hit with cold air. He jerks like he's been stabbed, and the sudden movement clears a little of the fuzz from his brain. "What happened?"

"Well, what do you remember?" Bobby asks him.

Dean thinks back, struggling to recall the bar. But there was no bar…all he can picture is a storm. "Tornado…" Dean mutters, clenching his jaw as he tries to see more pictures in his memory. "House…tiny house. Your house."

"You got struck by lightning," Meesh informs him. "You're lucky to be alive."

Dean grunts as his body starts to shiver. "Guess that's why my brains feel scrambled. And why the hell is it so cold in here?" He blinks hard to clear his vision as Meesh tells him that they had to cut his shirt off to get to his burns. Something soft wraps around him, and he snuggles into it. "Thanks." He sits up a little straighter and looks around, trying to figure out where in Bobby's house he is right now, but nothing looks familiar. It's dark in here, for one; there's flickering candlelight from somewhere behind him, and Dean remembers the storm.

_Must've knocked the power out, _he thinks, trying to find comfort in the facts; maybe he can't figure out where he is because he's disoriented from the dim light? _Uh-huh, and how often do you hunt in the dark? Oh yeah, EVERY NIGHT. Try again, genius. Find something you know. _Dean looks to his right and finds a big silver something, round and tall, and all around him is this weird blue and white swirly pattern. Nothing fits in any memory. Dean finally chalks it up to his eggy brains and clears his throat. "So all right, I got hit…must be smaller cos I'm inside."

"Smaller is kinda the key word here, Dean."

Dean does not like how carefully Sam constructed that sentence. "Meaning?" No one responds, so Dean frowns. "What?" he demands, looking around the alien landscape. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Um…" Meesh ums, sounding like she's right above Dean, so he looks up…and into the giant faces of Meesh and Bobby, staring right back down at him.

"JEEBUS!"

"Dean, calm down," Meesh urges, but Dean can't. His head whips around as the weird surroundings start to make awful, awful sense. The round, tall silver thing? Meesh's travel coffee mug. And the blue and white swirls are from the tablecloth Bobby bought and defended as being not at all girlie. Dean stands up to his full, one-foot height and wobbles as other huge and wrong things come into view. Sam's laptop, now wide as a wall. An open book that could span a city street. A fork the size of a rake! And the soft covering around his upper half is a hand towel—a hand towel, for Chrissakes! It slides off Dean's shoulders as his stiff body stumbles ever backward.

"What the…HOW the…?"

"Careful!" Bobby shouts, reaching for him with a God-sized hand. Dean dodges and keeps moving back, narrowly avoiding the large, lit candle behind him. He falls off the table and lands in something soft. Dean shuts his eyes, knowing at once what he'll see if he dares to look.

"Dean?" Sam's voice drops on him as a heavy load. "Are you okay?"

_Not happening, _Dean thinks. _Please, no. I've been through enough, dammit, PLEASE, not this, too…_

"Dean…_please. _Look at me."

So Dean does. His skyscraper brother is high above him, looking down with tunnel-sized Nostrils of Concern and the world's biggest puppy-dog eyes. Dean starts to tremble. "Oh shit," Sam whispers, and Dean shakes even more as those big hands lift him up higher and closer to that huge, familiar face. "Don't be scared, Dean, it's me, it's Sammy!"

And even though he's freaking out, the big brother in him comes forth at the fear in his giant little brother's voice. "I know," Dean answers, forcing himself to look at those enormous hazel eyes. "And I'm not scared of you, I'm just freaked, this is too…I mean, you're…everything! And I'm…I'm…" His eyes bug out and he starts hyperventilating.

"Sam! Put him here," Meesh orders, pointing at the table. Sam carefully sets Dean down, and Meesh drops the tea cozy over him, blocking the new, gigantic world from his view. "There, Dean sweetie. You're safe now. Just please, BREATHE. Calm down." They all listen as Dean's breaths gradually even out and deepen, all the while exchanging looks of worry. They knew Dean would react badly, but it's still hard to watch.

"So what happened?" Dean asks after a few minutes.

"Honestly? We don't know for sure." Bobby keeps his voice low so as to not freak Dean out again, but he can't hide the anxious tone from the kid, so he just keeps talking before Dean comments on it. "Our best guess is that the lightning messed up your growth ability and sent you the other way. We're waiting t' hear back from Owen. He might know more."

"We've been doing research all evening," Sam adds, "but we haven't found anything we don't already know. But we'll keep looking. We'll figure this out, Dean, I promise." Dean doesn't reply. "Dean…" Sam grasps the bottom of the tea cozy and lifts it up, but a tiny hand appears and tugs it back down. Sam sighs. "What do you want us to do for now?"

"Go away," Dean says, though he quickly amends, "Just for a little while, okay? Need a few minutes to process." He hears gigantic footsteps back off, taking their dark shadows away from the dim light of the candle just outside the soft, safe borders of the tea cozy. Dean remembers the day Meesh brought it to Bobby's, and how much he and Sam teased their old friend for getting domesticated. Dean didn't even know what a tea cozy was until he saw the thing in all its hen-shaped glory. 'See?' Meesh demonstrates in his memory. 'The hen's head and neck go over the spout, and the wings and body over the rest of the kettle. It keeps the water hotter, longer!' They all smiled as she excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and then the whipped jokes started in full. Bobby had them by the scruffs of their shirts and was just about to throw them out the door when Meesh got back and told them she'd make some tea. 'Can I be the tea cozy wrangler?' Dean had asked with mirth, and Meesh said of course. Dean grinned at Bobby wickedly. That was a fun day.

_And now you're a foot tall and sitting underneath that stupid tea cozy. You're the tea cozy's egg. How's that feel, Dean? _He sighs at his own, depressed thoughts. _Feels like I'm the joke now, _he thinks back, defeated. He's flushed in embarrassment, from his goose-bump-covered bare torso and arms down to his tiny toes in his wee little boots. _Oh fuck, I'm cute,_ Dean thinks with disgust. _They're gonna call me cute. Sammy's gonna buy me fucking doll clothes—hell, he'll probably dress me up in them while I'm asleep. Note to self: do not sleep. Shouldn't be a problem, since hey, you barely sleep as it is… _

He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his forehead on his jeans. This sucks. Every last part of it. _Just like being back in Hell. _He smirks a little at that: it's just his luck. _Was in Hell, got out of Hell. Then grew into giant!Hell, and got out of giant!Hell. Sorta. It's been replaced with tiny!Hell. How long till I get out of tiny!Hell? What if I don't? What if this time, it sticks and I'm stuck like this? _He looks up at the stitching on the ceiling and sighs again. _I'll be more useless than ever. Great. Juuust great._

Suddenly, the room fills with bright, orange light. There's a loud clap of noise, and then something drops onto the floor, making Dean and his tea cozy jump from the vibration. A new shadow is in the room, and before Dean can peek out, he hears a familiar accent and voice:

"Oh good, got it on the first try."

"Owen?" Sam asks, striding over to help the Brit off the floor.

"The very same," Owen replies. He straightens his glasses as he shares smiles with Bobby and Meesh. "Thought I'd pop in to see this bizarre change of events for myself. Where's Dean?"

"Under there." Sam points, but as Owen moves over, Sam stops him. "We're…giving him some room right now."

"Right, yeah. A bit much to take in all at once."

Dean is gritting his teeth at all of this consideration. _Don't look at him, you might scare the pathetic little guy! _he growls in his mind. Of course, at the same time, he's very glad Sam stopped him. _But Sam shouldn't have to protect me. I protect HIM! Or at least I used to… Fuck, how the hell am I supposed to do that now?_

His thoughts are interrupted by a simple question from Owen that makes Dean feel even worse: "So, how's our little man doing?"

_Little man…say anything like that again and I'm biting off your big toe…_

"Not great, but who can blame him?" Sam replies.

"How small is he?"

Meesh holds her hands apart to demonstrate. "About 12 inches."

"Interesting. How big was he when he got struck by lightning?"

"BIG," Sam emphasizes. "Bigger than back in Chicago. He covered the whole house up with the palm of his hand."

Owen whistles, and Dean feels smaller than ever at the reminder of how he used to be. _And to think that I used to complain about being big. I take it all back, Karma, I swear!_

"Our working theory is that the lightning scrambled his circuits," Bobby tells Owen.

"Possible," Owen nods. "Or it could be that Dean had the ability to shrink this whole time, only didn't know it. A hydros can shrink if it wants to. They do so sometimes to hide from predators."

"So maybe the lightning unlocked that ability?" Meesh proposes.

"Or maybe it cancelled out his growth ability altogether?" Sam says.

_God I hope not, _Dean thinks at that.

"I'm honestly not sure," Owen admits. "We'll have to run some tests to determine…"

Dean stops paying attention after the word 'tests'. _No more fucking tests! Forget it! _He creeps out from under the tea cozy, crawls to the table's edge, and slides down the table cloth to the floor. He makes a break for the den as the giants behind him continue to make plans for him.

"Dean won't want any more tests," Sam argues. Owen is confused, so Sam explains, "His growth has been triggered at weird times lately, so we ran him through some tests to try and figure out why."

"And?"

"It's partly tied to his emotions," Meesh explains, "but not every reaction can be explained by that. It's something much deeper. I was talking to him about it before he got poisoned—"

"Poisoned?" Owen repeats, as does Dean from the other room, though no one hears him.

"Someone or something hexed the surface of the beer bottles," Bobby grunts. "Still don't know who did it." He gives Sam a look. "Though we have our short list of usual suspects..."

Sam frowns. "It wasn't Ruby."

"Sure it wasn't," Meesh mutters.

They hear a fluttering of wings, and then a deep voice speaks from the corner. "Sam is right." Castiel appears before them, looking as cheerless as ever. "This was no work of a demon, but something much more powerful." He looks at Sam. "An angel."

Dean, still eavesdropping from the other room, rolls his eyes. _Great, another dick with wings. Starting to think you're the only nice one around, Cas._

"Who was it?" Sam demands.

"I don't know, but his power is greater than my own. He was able to conjure that storm."

"Wait…what? You're saying that was a supernatural tornado?"

Castiel nods. "It was manufactured to hurt Dean. And when he bested the tornado, the angel struck him with lightning."

"Smiting by lightning bolt sounds more like God's work to me," Owen comments. He gets a face full of angry angel a second later.

"My father did NOT do this," Castiel informs him. "It was an angel, possibly in league with Uriel and his ilk. Dean is no longer safe here and must leave at once. Where is he?"

Sam lifts up the tea cozy, but Dean is no longer there. "Dean?" Everyone looks around.

"I'll check the other room," Meesh says, but Sam runs over and stops her.

"NO! Don't move. You might step on him." His face turns green. "Or I just did…" He checks his shoes for his brother's smooshed guts, praying that he won't find anything. His shoes are clean. Sam relaxes for a split second before his mind comes up with other possible scenarios, like Dean being eaten by one of the stray salvage yard dogs. Or Dean falling through a heating duct and being burned alive in the furnace. Or Dean sucked into the blades of that fan Bobby always keeps on in the den cos it gets so hot in there. Or Dean—

"He is in here," Castiel declares, now in the other room. They file into the den and find Dean on the couch in front of the TV. Sam can't help it: he grabs Dean and hugs him out of sheer relief. Dean struggles to get free, but Sam holds the little body tight.

"Now you get the hugging thing," Dean murmurs into Sam's huge shirt. Sam laughs and sets him down on the back of the couch. Dean stands tall—which isn't nearly tall enough—and regards them all. "So? How do we fix this?" Five big pairs of eyes blink at each other, and Dean sighs. "Great. We got nothing." He turns around to get off the couch, but Sam grabs him before he gets one foot in the air.

"What the hell, Dean? Do you WANT to crush every bone in your body?" Sam carries him to the mantel of Bobby's fireplace and sets him down. "There. Now you HAVE to get my help getting down."

"Gee, thanks, Captain Safety," Dean replies, insulted to his core by his little brother's complete lack of trust. Sam looks a little hurt at the words, but Dean doesn't care; he isn't exactly in the best of moods right now, and how can he be? Tiny and hurting and cold as he is, and with all of them watching him like he's some lab rat… "Stop staring at me," he barks. He shivers again from the cold and frowns at the entire sucky situation. Sam reaches forward, but Dean bats him off. "And DON'T…touch me, okay? I'm in a lot of pain, not to mention all of this…all of…YOU…being like that…it's uncomfortable. And if any one of you tells me to suck it up, I'll…" He watches all the eyebrows rise, amused expressions on all faces, save for Castiel's, and Dean grumbles, "I'll think of something." His shivers turn into trembles, and Sam is right there, wrapping a big paw around his little-big brother. Dean glares at him, 'didn't you hear what I just said?' clear on his face, but Sam stays put, looking back at Dean with 'I'm just trying to help' in his expression.

Meesh fishes her blue bandanna out of her purse and folds it a few times before handing it to Dean. "Here, before you turn into an Eskimo Pie."

"Thanks, Meesh." Dean fashions it into a thick wrap and ties it in a knot on his side. "Okay. Start talking. What happened to me after I was poisoned?"

"You were out," Sam supplies. "For hours."

"Well, glam rock will do that to a person."

Sam smirks at the slight déjà vu, remembering how he pictured Dean saying almost exactly that just a few hours ago, when Dean was still recovering.

"Does it also make you sleepwalk?" Bobby asks Dean, who frowns.

"Nnnnoo," Dean says slowly, one eyebrow arced high. "Why?"

"Cos that's what happened to you."

Dean double-blinks. "But I don't sleepwalk, Bobby."

"Well that's funny, cos when you grew and walked straight through the wall over there, you sure as shit didn't look awake." Bobby directs Dean's gaze to the massive hole in the wall across the room, and Dean's jaw drops.

"I did that?"

"Well it wasn't yer evil twin," Bobby grunts. "Me an' Meesh tried to get through to ya but you kept bleating on about finding Sam. Had to follow you through two neighborhoods till you finally slowed down. By the time Sam got there, you were pulling the roofs off houses and looking inside."

"I don't remember…ANY of that," Dean admits. He's searching his memory for any detail to confirm Bobby's story, but all he remembers is the storm, his talk with Meesh…and a zoo, for some reason. He feels Sam's hand rest behind him to steady him, and only now does Dean realize he was swaying. He looks from Sam's huge thumbnail up to his big eyes. "Why was I trying to find you? Where'd you go?"

Sam swallows hard. "I, uh…was out."

"Out?" Bobby repeats, looking as suspicious as Dean feels.

"He went out to get some supplies for me," Meesh blurts. "More saline for Dean's IV." Sam doesn't know why Meesh is covering for him, but he smiles at her with his gratitude. She doesn't smile back. "What matters is that he got back in time, and Dean got all of you back and inside this house before the storm got serious." She looks fondly at Dean and adds, "Saved us all. Again."

"And now we must save him." Castiel grabs Dean and turns away, but Sam is right there and blocking his path.

"Dean is perfectly safe right here." He grabs Dean back.

"Hey!" Dean shouts. "Easy on the merchandise!" But he's ignored

"He is anything but safe here," Castiel argues. Bobby opens his mouth to put in his $1.05 about his house being unsafe, but Castiel cuts him off. "An angel walked past every ward you have and poisoned Dean without anyone seeing a thing. Do you really call that being safe?" Castiel grabs Dean back, but this time Bobby grabs him away.

"And just where were you when that other angel was here? Some protection job."

"We have wasted enough time as it is." Castiel teleports Dean to his shoulder.

"Wait. Please," Sam calls after him. Castiel turns around and Sam asks, "Can you hide Dean somehow? Keep him off the angel radar?"

"No. That would be overstepping my bounds. The garrison would be…upset."

Sam takes Dean back. "Then he might as well stay here with the people who care about him."

"HEY!" Dean yells again, but another hand snags him away.

"Perhaps I should take him?" Owen suggests. "Go back to mine. Put the distance of half a continent and an ocean between him and all of this."

Castiel takes him again. "Distance means nothing to an angel."

"Stop it!" Dean orders.

Sam grabs him. "He's my brother."

Castiel takes him back. "He's MY charge."

Bobby next. "Yeah, well he's been my responsibility longer than the two-a you put together."

They all put a hand on him, pulling him in three directions, and Dean's temper spikes.

"STOP!"

Their hands are forced apart as Dean shoots up like a bottle rocket, going from 12 inches to 12 feet in a blink. His head smacks hard against the ceiling, and he winces for a moment before turning his glare on all of his so-called protectors. "Do I get a say in this?" he booms. "Or do you just wanna keep talking over my head and passing me around in your fucked-up game of hot potato?" They all look guilty, and Dean is glad for it. "Look. For the 182nd time—and yeah, I've been counting—no matter what size I am, I am still ME. Dean Winchester. Do I have to staple post-it notes to your head, or are you gonna remember this time?"

Everyone's eyes drop to the floor. "What do you want to do, Dean?" Meesh asks gently.

"Stay here."

The angel steps forward. "If you stay here, they will find you."

Sam turns to Castiel with a scowl. "If an angel's after him, why should he go with you—an ANGEL? He's safer if he stays here."

"I'm not the only one that knows of Bobby Singer," Castiel warns. "He'll be a giant target here."

Dean shrinks at once, and Cas reaches for him. But Sam pulls the angel away.

"If you take him, I'm going with you."

"That wouldn't be wise."

"I don't care!" Sam barks, and Dean cowers from the noise. "I've been with him when he's been huge, and I'm not going anywhere while he's little! Someone has to watch out for him!"

Dean grows now, irked by the idea that Sam sees him as a little weakling—again.

"And how is he to be watched over when you leave him almost every night for your demon's company?" Castiel throws back, and Dean shrinks at the truth.

Sam scoffs. "And you're better? We never know when or where you'll show up! You only show up when YOU need Dean, not when he needs you!"

"I am watching over Dean ALL the time," Cas says, nearly growling, as Dean grows again in the background.

"You're a soldier in a war," Sam points out. "You can't keep fighting and keep watch over Dean at the same time."

"And how are you any different? You spend more time with Ruby than your own brother."

"That's not true!"

Two huge hands come down between the quibbling pair, gently pushing them away from each other, and Castiel and Sam look up at a now 20ish foot Dean, bent way over so as not to burst through the ceiling. "Quit fighting over me like I'm the last M&M in the bag," he utters, voice rough, and both the angel and the human notice that the giant face is sickly green.

"Dean, you don't look too good…" Sam comments with worry. Dean naturally waves it off.

"I'll be fine." He starts to shrink again, and his injured shoulder rubs along the wall, making him cry out in pain. He gets HUGE, knees pushing everyone and everything in his path across the room, and then pops out of sight as he shrinks down. They see his tiny, two-inch form stand up on shaky legs, just a second before he's 10-foot tall and leaning on the banister. "Ugh…think I'm gonna be sick…"

"Quick, get a bucket!" Meesh tells Bobby.

"What size, thimble or barrel?" Bobby asks. Turns out there is no time for either: Dean switches between giant and Lilliputian one last time before he hangs his head out the hole in the outside wall and hurls until his body is a shaking wreck. Sam runs forward to help him, but he's pushed back as Dean grows into the room. The house shakes as Dean's heaving starts anew.

"Sorry," Dean croaks, shrinking down to six inches, "can't…ugh, can't stop."

Owen holds his hand out in Dean's direction and, in a commanding voice, says…something none of them understand. But Dean's little body goes rigid, and he drops onto his back, breathing hard.

"What did you do?" Sam asks as he plods over to his stricken brother. He lifts Dean up and holds him in his palm as the small form writhes, causing the even smaller head to snap back and forth.

"Forced him to stay small," Owen replies. "He's highly unstable right now and his body can't handle it. He needs some R&R, or he'll just get worse." Little green eyes open and glare at Owen. "Easy, mate, it's temporary, I promise. You'll be back in control in time for brekkie tomorrow. Lunch at the latest."

"Didja have to freeze me at action-figure size?" Dean mopes as he sits up. He looks at his little legs and arms with sheer disgust, and it isn't lost on any of his onlookers. Only Owen ignores it, giving Dean a shrug.

"You have to get used to being small just as you had to get used to being big."

"And we'll help you through it, Dean," Sam promises. "We're not going anywhere." He sifts the tip of his index finger through Dean's tiny spikes of hair, and Dean sighs, feeling smaller and more pathetic than ever.

"Lucky me."

"Dean." Castiel says the name as verb—we have to go, come with me, trust me, and Dean feels the angel watching him with those Cas eyes of his, all blue and staring and piercing. But Dean knows by now that it's his look of concern, not his look of 'I will smite you.' That one comes with stabbing instead of piercing. So Dean looks back at him with his own caring-but-strong look.

"Cas, you said it yourself: it doesn't matter where I go, cos it's all the same to whatever angel is after me. And if I have to deal with being travel-sized for a while, I'd like to be someplace I know. Bobby's house is home, y'know? I've always felt safe here." He looks at Bobby. "Always BEEN safe here." Bobby gives a nod of thanks, and Dean turns back to Cas. "If you don't trust security, maybe you could help beef it up. Put some extra wards on the place."

Castiel nods. "I can do that."

Dean smiles warmly. "Thanks. And I know you've got my back if anything goes down." He looks up at Sam. "Just like the Gigantor here." Sam smiles back down at him.

"I will be back the moment I discover who is behind this," Castiel promises. "Until then," he looks directly at Sam, "be vigilant." And with a flutter of wings, he's gone.

Meesh claps her hands together. "All right, kids, it's been a long-ass day, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm really ready for some shuteye. What do you say we shelve all this new B.S. until tomorrow?"

"What about dinner?" Dean pouts.

"You just puked out half your body weight," Sam reminds him, "and you're still hungry?"

Dean throws the disbelief right back at him. "Have we met?"

"I'll bring you a little snack, Dean," Meesh promises. She gets a glare at the use of a certain word, and she bites her lip. "Did someone say 'little' snack? Nobody here said 'little' snack—I SAID, 'snack.' You all heard it."

"Relax, Meesh," Sam grins. "What's he gonna do to you while he's like this, bite your knuckle?" Dean glares up at Sam now, but he doesn't see it. He waves goodnight to Meesh while Bobby asks Owen if he wants to crash on the couch. As Sam gets to the staircase, Dean wriggles out of his grasp and lands on the fourth step up.

"I'm not a cripple, Sam," Dean hisses. "I can walk up the stairs by myself."

Sam snorts, "Yeah, and it'll take you about 100 years. Don't be stupid." He picks Dean up again, and Dean squirms behind the big palm the whole way. Sam only just makes it into the guestroom without dropping the little troublemaker. "Dude, what the hell?" Sam asks as he opens up his hand. Dean smacks Sam's thumb one last time before jumping onto the bed.

"All right, this 'holding me' thing stops RIGHT NOW."

"Huh? You hold me all the time when you're big!"

"This is different!" Dean yells. Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean sends him his death glare. "See? Right there. That's what I'm talking about."

"What, that I think you're being melodramatic about all this?"

"NO, that you don't respect me."

That gets Sam's attention. "Dean…of course I respect you."

"Bullshit. I've only been small a few minutes, and you're already talking for me, thinking for me, carrying me around like you're Paris and I'm your stupid teacup dog…"

"All right, so I got a little…overprotective," Sam admits. "But dude, you're the same way with me when you're a giant. So don't get all pissy with me just cos the tables are turned."

Dean shakes his head. "You don't get it, do you?" Sam folds his arms and looks at Dean to continue. "Sam, you stay the same size no matter what, and everything around you stays the same, too. But for me?" Dean holds his arms out on either side. "Everything is HUGE. It's freakin' weird, too. I'm not supposed to be the size of a cell phone, and you," he points way up at his brother's face, "shouldn't be a damn redwood tree!"

"What's any of that got to do with respect?" Sam asks. Dean hangs his head and gives a very loud sigh for such a little guy.

"Forget it," Dean snaps. He jumps off the bed, dodges Sam's waiting hand, and lands on the floor, where he murmurs, "you don't even respect me when I'm normal, why the hell should I expect it now…"

Sam hears it, and he blows out a sigh of his own. "Dean…" He watches the little body cross the hallway and go into the bathroom. Sam takes off his shoes before he follows, hovering in the doorway as Dean looks up at the towering sink.

"Get over here," Dean orders without looking back. Sam shuffles forward.

"You want a lift?" Sam asks as his huge, socky feet come to rest behind his miniature brother.

"No. I'll climb."

"You'll climb?"

Dean's eyes dart up, glaring again. "Yeah, smartass, I'll climb!" He jumps onto the side of Sam's left calf and starts hauling himself up the denim face of Mount Sasquatch. Sam just stares at him, amused, though when Dean stumbles, Sam reaches for him—and gets kicked in the palm for his trouble.

"OW!"

"No touchy!" Dean yells back. He swings up to Sam's flannel and begins the cotton-poly blend portion of his ascent. Sam giggles and squirms as Dean's tiny hands tickle his ribs, and Dean clings to the plaid fabric for dear life. "Dammit, Sam, stop moving!"

"Then stop tickling me!"

"I'm not!" Dean kicks his boots into some muscular footholds in Sam's bicep and zips out of the danger zone. Then he makes the final push up and over the zenith, crawling onto his shoulder, where he stands and holds both fists up in victory.

"Shoulda brought a flag!" he pants.

Sam shakes his head at him. "Yeah, I'm sure the citizens of Dorktopia are very proud of you."

"Shaddup." Dean jumps off Sam's shoulder and lands on the side of the basin. Sam switches the faucet on, and both brothers wash their faces. Then Meesh knocks on the door.

"Snack's here," she announces. "Left it on the nightstand for you, Dean."

"Thanks Meesh!" Dean calls. He hears her wish them both a good night's sleep, and Dean mutters to Sam, "Only if you and Bobby keep it down." Dean shudders, Sam snickers, and Meesh ducks her head back around the doorway.

"I heard that."

"Good, cos we don't want to!" he sasses right back.

"Keep it up, Dean, and you won't get your pie."

Dean pounces onto Sam's shoulder and looks over, grinning like he just won the lottery. Likewise, Meesh moves back and 'displays' a piece of frozen Oreo cream cheese pie on the table. "It's the piece we saved you from earlier today," she says. "Thought now was as good a time as any for you to enjoy it."

Dean jumps off Sam's shoulder and freefalls to the toilet paper roll, where he grabs on the hanging square and uses the two-ply to break his fall. Once he lands and crawls out from his Charmin covers, he bolts for the guest bedroom. Meesh has already moved the plate to the floor, and as Dean comes up to it, his eyes widen, pupils turning into little pie shapes and everything. The slice is as big as he is!

"Here, a gift from Owen." Meesh hands Dean a tiny fork. Dean takes it and grins anew.

"Awesome." And he dives—literally—right in, landing chest deep in the Cool Whip. Meesh smiles and backs away, joining Sam in the hallway.

"Owen brought him a complete dining set, table and chair and everything," Meesh informs him. "Says it belonged to his Grandmother, and she used it when fairies came for tea."

"That'll come in handy," Sam nods, then adds much more quietly, "Though I'm sure Dean'll see it as another insult…"

"Well, who can blame him? I'd probably be the same way. Bet you would, too." Meesh looks up at Sam. "It's one thing for all of us to be a little afraid when Dean is big, but can you imagine EVERYthing being big? Has to be awful for him. I think he's handling it quite well, all things considered." Sam shrugs, still looking worried, and Meesh puts a hand on his shoulder. "Just put yourself in his shoes if you're not sure what to say or do. I'm sure that's all Dean would want. Okay?" Sam nods, and she pats him on the back. "Oh! Before I forget—here." She places a little vial in his hand. "Owen said that a drop of this on any of Dean's clothes will make them shrink. If you use that other liquid he has that makes them stretch or shrink with him, they'll be treated right away to handle his new form. Might want to get your brother a change of clothes—make him feel a little more normal again."

Sam smiles in gratitude. "Thanks Meesh. Good night."

She nods and turns to leave, but she stops and, going up on tip toe, whispers into his ear, "No sneaking out tonight. Dean needs his brother." Meesh gives him a stern look until he nods, and then she finally slips down the hall and into Bobby's room, shutting the door behind her.

"Uuuuunnngh…"

The groan sweeps Sam's attention back to his room, and he sees his brother sitting on Oreo-crust crumbs on the plate, his stomach almost comically distended. Sam pinches the skin between his eyes. "Please tell me you didn't…"

Dean breathes hard a few times before he replies, "I can't believe these words are gonna come out of my mouth, but…" He burps. Loudly. "I think I ate too much pie."

"You think?" Sam kneels down and puts the pad of his index finger on Dean's forehead. "You're burning up. You feel like you're gonna honk?"

Dean shakes his head. "I'm giving you a no-honk guarantee. Just need some sleep." He attempts to sit up, but falls back onto the plate. "And, uh…I might need a little help here."

Sam scoops him up and stands up as slowly as he's able. "See, it's not so bad asking for help once in a while, is it?"

"I ask for help!" Dean snaps back, indignant. Sam throws him a look, and Dean addendums, "Just cos it only happens once every other year doesn't mean I NEVER ask for it…"

"Uh-huh." Sam places him on the pillow of his own bed, and Dean frowns.

"Uhh, did I miss something, or did you decide to switch beds?"

Sam moves over to Dean's duffle and starts sifting through his clothes. "Nope. You're sleeping with me tonight."

Dean sits straight up. "Hey! Just cos I'm six-inches tall doesn't mean I'm a sex toy." Sam glares at him, and Dean points right back. "Do NOT get any ideas, sicko."

"Believe it or not, Dean, I wasn't talking about incest." He smirks as he looks back at Dean. "Should I be worried that that's where your mind went to first?" Dean doesn't answer him, so Sam gets up for a closer look. His brother is curled up into as small a ball as his huge stomach will allow. "You want me to get you a drop of Pepto, or is that giving you too much help?" Sam asks and only half-jokes. To his surprise, Dean nods.

"That would be great, Sammy. Thanks."

"Be right back." Sam jogs down the stairs to Owen, who tells him that he put the rest of Dean's little dinnerware on the counter. Sam grabs the tiny cup, runs back upstairs, gets the Pepto Bismol and the eye dropper out of the medicine cabinet, and prepares Dean's little tummy remedy. Then he carefully carries the cup back to his stricken brother and, using his free hand, helps his brother sit up. "Here. Drink this."

Dean takes the cup from his brother's huge palm and drinks the pink contents down, giving his best Mr. Yuk face after he swallows. "When are they gonna make that stuff taste better?" he wonders aloud.

"Well, don't eat so much and you won't have to taste it," Sam lectures, heading back to the duffel.

"It was worth it," Dean says, patting his stomach, "cos I loooove pie." He watches Sam pull out one of his t-shirts and asks, "What are you doing with my stuff?"

"Giving you a change of clothes. Where's your magic clothes stretching potion?"

"Check the shaving kit."

Sam opens the small, vinyl-covered container and finds the vial under the toothbrush. Following Owen's directions, he first uses the dropper that came with the new vial and drops the new substance on two of Dean's shirts, boxers, his spare pair of jeans, his sweats, and two pairs of socks. Once they're all small, he uses the original potion and sprinkles the liquid onto the clothes so they'll grow with Dean again next time he himself grows. Smiling at how easy something is for a change, he picks up the grey tee and sweats and brings them over to Dean. "Here. And don't be a hammy-wammy! Put on your jimmy-jammies." He grins as he says it, and Dean grins too but rolls his eyes.

"You still find that funny? I haven't said that since you were, like, 10."

"It isn't just the words, but the voice you always used."

"You mean," Dean clears his throat and speaks in a high, lovey-dovey voice, "Don't be a hammy-wammy! Put on your jimmy-jammies, Sammy!" Sam cracks up, and Dean smiles at his dorky brother as he tugs his newly-shrunken tee on over his head.

"I always wondered what a hammy-wammy was," Sam chuckles. "I figured it was something bad, because you told me not to be one every single night before bedtime."

"It worked, didn't it?" Dean beams. "Good to know you still like that stupid joke. I'll use it next time you get all broody and emo. Here, let me set my watch alarm to five minutes from now…"

Sam slips off his own flannel shirt and drops it on top of his brother's tiny body in retaliation. "Funny."

"Ugh, smells like sweat and cheap soap." Dean's complaints come out muffled, and Sam chooses to ignore them. Until Dean says, "And…blood?"

Sam grabs his shirt back as Dean, now fully changed into his bed clothes, looks up at him with concern. Sam pretends he doesn't see it and lifts his shirt up for a sniff. "Smells fine," he declares. "Smells like me."

"Anything's better than your swamp feet, I guess," Dean replies. Sam gives him a look, and Dean says, "Why the hell do you think I climbed so fast earlier? It was to get away from the stench!"

"Whatever, Dean," Sam yawns. "Yours don't exactly smell like roses, either."

"I know. I don't wear old lady perfume, unlike that flowery deodorant you've been sporting lately."

"It says unisex right on the label, Dean!"

"Yeah! Right next to the words 'Garden Fresh Scent.'" Dean smirks through Sam's giant glare and plops back-first onto the pillow. His nose wrinkles again. "Ugh, and now I smell oily hair. I know you don't bother to comb your hair, Sam, but would it kill you to use shampoo once in a while?"

"Yeah, um, Dean? You're on your own pillow. That means you're smelling your OWN hair, not mine."

"You wish. I'm just smelling your dirty hair from here." Dean endures another glare, and he shrugs at it. "I can't help it if my nose is more sensitive when I'm small, but YOU can help make your own body less stinky. All it takes is a shower, Sammy."

Sam sits down on the bed—hard—and grins as Dean's body flies up, then drops back down and bounces a few times before settling. He ignores his brother's grumblefritzing and starts to change into his own clothes. He notices Dean turns away when he gets to the boxer exchange, and Sam, out of the goodness of his heart, decides to let this one go—at least for now. Pulling on his white tee, he gradually lies down on his back, keeping his head well to the right of Dean, and pats the shirt's lone breast pocket. "Okay. Hop in."

"Uh…you're kidding me, right?" Dean asks, and as Sam's huge head turns to face him, he looks down at the pocket with disdain. "I'm not sleeping in there!"

"Why not? I sleep in your pocket all the time when you're a giant."

"Yeah, and it's fine because I sleep on my back now. But you're gonna roll over, Sammy, and I'll be crushed!"

"No I won't!"

"YEAH, you will," Dean tells him. "You're the most restless sleeper in the world, AND you like sleeping on your stomach."

Sam's face moves in close to the little body, and Dean squirms away from the giant nose about to poke into his side. "I swear I won't crush you," Sam whispers, hazel eyes emoting at full power. "I just want you to feel safe, like I do when you're huge and protecting me." Dean is stunned speechless, and Sam gives him a coy smile and pats his pocket again. "Please? Just…give it a try. If I start to move, you can always rush out and hit me with the I Told You So's."

Dean gives in with a sigh. "Fine," he says, getting up and trudging from squishy pillow to rock-hard muscle under soft white cotton. "But I really hope I don't have to say I Told You So. Right now, I just want some sleep." He slides tiny-bare-feet-first into the pocket, and he feels Sam's heartbeat in his back. "Ooh!" he says, smiling at the strangely comforting sensation. "That's kinda…" He yawns at the lulling sound and feeling. "I really…that's…" His eyes close, and he drops into an instant sleep.

Watching from above, Sam smiles as Dean drifts off. The little weight on his chest is its own comfort—proof that Sam can take care of Dean, even though he's so much bigger than him right now. He now understands why Dean appreciates it so much when he's a giant and Sam stays with him through the night. "Sleep well, Dean," Sam whispers, and he reaches over to the candle on the nightstand and blows it out.

Unfortunately, Sam doesn't sleep nearly as well as Dean does. His brother's fear of getting squished has planted itself front and center in Sam's mind, and he only manages to doze off every now and then before waking up, wide-eyed and shaky, to check on Dean and make sure he's still intact. He's fine every time—until just before 3 a.m., when the little legs are kicking and squirming inside the pocket. Sam is fully awake and alert at once, and he feels around for the matchbox on the nightstand. The moment he finds it, he hears Dean say, "no…please, no…"

"One second, Dean," Sam whispers as he lights the candle. Leaning his body slightly to the left and into the flickering light, he finds Dean covered in sweat and in the throes of a nightmare. _Shit, not again, _he thinks with worry. _I thought he wasn't having these anymore? _As Dean's pleas to "let me go" grow louder, Sam covers him with his big hand, hoping that Dean will find the same comfort Sam does when Dean uses his own giant hand as a blanket. Instead, Dean freaks out.

"LEMME GO!" Dean's small arms grapple for release as he smacks and scratches his way out of Sam's gentle grasp. Sam hisses in pain as he holds his wounded palm up to the light and watches tiny rivulets of blood rise up and open. Dean is still fighting, punching the air and snapping his teeth at nothing. "Lemme go you son of a bitch!" he yells. "You can't make me go back! I WON'T!"

Dean is thrashing so badly now that Sam is scared he'll hurt himself, so he tries covering Dean up again. Bad idea. Dean chomps down hard into the web of skin between his right thumb and index finger. "YEEOWCH!" Sam bellows, grabbing his hand back with his brother-turned-piranha still attached. Sam tugs at Dean till the teeny teeth let go, and his aching hands drop the six-inch body onto the nightstand, where Dean lands with a hollow THUMP.

"Oh fuck…" Sam cups his hands under his pits for warmth and comfort and leans in over his brother. "Dean? You all right?" Dean doesn't answer, just curls up and keeps his face hidden by his arm, so Sam nudges him with his elbow. Dean's body is shaking again, and as Sam leans in even closer, he hears something that breaks his heart: Dean is crying. Sam reaches out to comfort him, cloaking the body with his just-bitten right hand, but Dean jerks away.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he yells, voice drowning in emotion. Then he utters a quieter "fuck" as he stands up, keeping his back to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam asks quietly, but his brother still won't look at him. Instead, Dean swipes a match (about the size of a baton to him) from the box and walks across the nightstand. Once he reaches the edge, he hops onto the window seat and disappears behind the box of tissues. Not long after that, another candle flame comes to life, and on the opposite wall of the room, a huge, Dean-shaped shadow appears next to an equally-huge tissue box shade. Sam watches the shadow's hands come up to his face and wipe at the tears Dean won't let him see.

"You going to tell me you're all right?" Sam asks. "Or do we have to play a game of shadow puppets?"

The Dean shadow turns and looks at itself, and Sam hears a small sigh. "'m fine, Sam. Go back to sleep."

Now it's Sam's turn to sigh. "What was the nightmare about?"

"What nightmare?"

_Big surprise, he's denying it, _Sam thinks, and he licks his lips and replies, "The one that had you so worked up that you scratched me till I bled and then you bit me."

"I…bit you?" Dean asks, voice high with surprise.

"Yeah. I'll show you the teeth marks in the morning."

"Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I know, Dean, you don't have to apologize." Sam sits up in bed. "Just talk to me, man. Please." He pauses to let Dean prepare himself; he knows his brother has to work up to talking to him, and damn if that doesn't always make Sam feel awful. "Was it about Hell?" Sam leads.

"Yeah," Dean gruffs back, and the shadow wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

"Was it a dream or a memory?" Sam presses—he HAS to get Dean to talk or he knows his brother won't sleep the rest of the night.

"Little of both."

Sam nods at the small admission. "Was it about something you did?" No answer this time, so Sam decides to go for it and lays all his cards out on the table. "Was it about breaking the first seal?"

The Dean shadow becomes a black, rigid column of nerves. "While you were sleepwalking," Sam tells him before the walls come back up, "you were apologizing for everything from letting me down to being a giant. And then you told me you were sorry for breaking the first seal."

Now the shadow sags. Sam keeps perfectly still, waiting for Dean to speak. The two candles flicker from the air coming through the cracked window, and their combined light makes the shadow appear to be stranded in living fire.

"I didn't know about it when it happened," Dean says, his voice now heavy and rough. "Only just found out while I was torturing…" He swallows the word back down. "…interrogating Alastair." The shadow shakes his head. "Son of a bitch just loved telling me, too."

"Demons lie, Dean," Sam softly reminds him.

"Yeah, I know. But Cas confirmed it later, when I asked him about it at the hospital."

The flames dance around, trapping Dean's shadow as their burning touch grows ever nearer. "Remember what I told you about Alastair's nightly offer?" Dean asks.

Sam nods. "Get off the rack and start torturing souls, and we'll stop torturing you," he paraphrases.

"When I gave in…" Dean's voice breaks from shame, and he clears his throat. "When I got off the rack, and I plunged Alastair's favorite knife into that woman's soul…I broke the first seal." He takes a deep breath. "He quoted scripture or something to me when I called bullshit. Said, 'And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break.'" The shadow's arm slides across his eyes, and Sam finds his own hand wiping his own tears away.

"Dean…you didn't know."

"Yeah, Sam, I did," Dean answers darkly. "Not about the seal breaking, fine, but I knew that his offer was too good to be true. I KNEW it. And I got down anyway." He chuckles with self-loathing. "It's my fault, Sam. The Apocalypse? All the shit we've been through lately? Everything. It's all on me."

The flames on the wall combine and leech the strength from the shadow, lightening Dean's form little by little. Sam struggles to come up with something to comfort his brother, but he's too overwhelmed. "I don't know what to say," Sam admits.

"Good, cos I don't deserve to hear it." Dean's statement makes Sam shake his head, but the moment he opens his mouth, Dean yells, "I'm serious, Sam. I don't want your pity, and I definitely don't want your forgiveness. I fucked up royally, and there is no making it right again. Doesn't matter how much I hunt, or how many other seals we prevent from opening: NOTHING will make up for what I did. Not even if I do whatever the hell Cas is talking about."

"What's that?"

"He said that the one who started it has to finish it—me, in other words. And I told him we're screwed." Dean gives another chuckle and mutters, "Like I wasn't bad enough before. Now I'm tiny and useless. It's even worse than being giant and useless." He climbs up on top of the box of tissues. "Guess it's nothing less than I deserve, huh."

Sam stares at the light shadow, scared that Dean's going to jump off and fall to the floor, or dive right into the fire, but instead he sits down inside the box, presumably using the tissues for a bed. He blows out the candle, and his shadow disappears.

"It's going to be okay, Dean," Sam says. "We'll figure something out." Dean says nothing, so Sam settles back into the bed, his head swimming with the new information and pure dread for his brother.

_Can't let you give up, Dean. And I can't let you down. _Sam's resolve hardens. _I won't. I'll step up and fix this. I promise._

Sam grabs his cellphone from under his pillow and sends a text to Ruby.

'Meet me tomorrow night. We need to talk strategy.'


	6. Near Misses and Mere Snitches

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** ::Blows dust off her story:: Well I DID warn you it might be a while before my next update :) I spent most of Dec.-Jan. working on a fic for the J2_Everafter challenge on LJ, and then I got horrendous writer's block for seven miserable weeks. But now that that's over with, I'm back to working on this. Woohoo! I only hope people are still interested in it…

Some reminders to help you recall where we left off: this takes place in Season 4, right after "On the Head of a Pin." As for specific stuffy stuff for the fic, please enjoy the following written version of a THEN montage from the show—only, y'know, for my story instead :)

THEN: We see giant!Dean ditch Sam after Sam ditched him to go kill demons with Ruby. Dean walks to Bobby's, and Sam catches up with him later. They argue, as they have been doing a lot lately. Sam's been sneaking off with Ruby again, and Sam and Bobby are keeping a map tracking the demon movements—and Sam won't let Bobby tell Dean about it, cos Sam thinks it's a waste of time. Sam is also struggling with his blood cravings, and he keeps having nightmares where he either kills Dean or Dean kills him. Dean, meanwhile, is struggling with his size abilities, and with Cas warning him that Sam is somehow getting more powerful/dangerous, the size thing is NOT helping. Neither is the fact that some rogue angel tried to poison Dean, but Castiel doesn't know who it was yet. Also frustrating is the fact that Dean is now stuck shrunk, after a lightning bolt to his body while he was protecting Bobby's house and everyone in it. Last chapter ended with Lilliputian!Dean confessing to Sam about breaking the first seal and how much he hates himself for breaking in Hell. Sam, REALLY wanting revenge at those no good demons for putting Dean through all that torture, sent a text to Ruby, saying they had to meet up the next night and talk strategy, the well-meaning idjit. And NOW…

* * *

**Chapter Six: Near Misses and Mere Snitches**

Sam wakes up even earlier than usual—4:35, according to the angry red numbers of the clock next to the bed. He yawns and gets up to pee. Something is caught in his back teeth, so he picks at it as he trundles into the bathroom.

His brain is like slush after a heavy snow, piled up in some places, messy and muddy in others. But one detail remains very clear: he'd been having a strange dream about Ruby. She was in a fancy hotel room, lounging on a California King and wearing a barely-there black teddy. It matched her eyes. And Dean kept popping in on Sam's shoulder, small and snarky. Both of them were telling him to trust them and not the other one, and he was torn. But when Ruby offered him a tall glass of blood, Sam walked over without a qualm.

_You can't do this! _Dean had yelled in his ear. _It's POISON, Sam! _When Sam took the glass, Dean jumped down to his hand and tried to pry his fingers away, but Sam held tight. _Don't, Sammy, please! _Dean begged. Sam just brushed the nuisance off his arm and drank the blood down in two gulps. _Dammit, Sam, LISTEN to me!_ Dean yelled from the floor. _I know what's best for you!_

_You mean you want me to fall in line, _Sam murmured back. _Just like Dad. No thanks. _And Sam stepped on him without a second thought. Ruby smiled and poured him another, using a tap attached to her own jugular. They toasted to their success. But as Sam drank, something got stuck in his throat, and he choked. He pulled out the offending object and held it in his palm. It was Dean's amulet. Covered in blood.

It's that image that woke Sam, and it remains front and center in his mind, even as the rest of the dream details ebb. He knows at once that he'll be checking on Dean before he goes back to bed—otherwise he'll never fall back asleep. So after he pees, Sam moves to the sink to wash his hands, and his bleary eyes slowly focus on the image of his nose in the mirror. Something isn't right. He looks closer. Twin red streaks are aligned with his nostrils, the former bloody rivers now river beds caked onto his skin. He wipes his nose clean with the back of his hand…then licks off the red smear. It's just regular blood. He feels a stab of disappointment milliseconds before an even bigger stab of disgust.

_Did I just…? _He stares at his hand. A small red smear remains, and he automatically leans in for another lick. _Hey, stop it!_ Sam wipes his hand on his pants before he looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes fixate at once on the small amount of dried blood still dotting his nostrils, and try as he might, he can't look away. "What is wrong with you?" he asks his reflection.

_Isn't it obvious? _his conscience replies.

Sam shuts his eyes and rubs at them with the heels of his hands._ It's just a bloody nose. It isn't demon blood. _And damn if his body doesn't react just to the words, heart pounding, throat thirsting, veins lusting for power. Sam's eyes flash open, and he stares all of his determination into the hazel orbs in the mirror. _So what, you're an addict now? Really? _His body doesn't calm down, and for once, his conscience refrains from commenting. Sam shakes his head at himself and, turning the spout, pours water into his palms. "You're fine," Sam whispers, adding a squirt of foamy soap to the mix. His body still hasn't calmed down, so Sam glares at his reflection yet again. "I SAID, you're FINE. Get a grip."

But just as he's about to wash his face, he spies something he missed: a strange mark on his lower lip. He has to move right up to the mirror to see it and hold his breath so he doesn't fog up the view.

It's a footprint. A perfect, tiny, red footprint, just off center of his lower lip.

Suddenly Sam is wide awake. The handfuls of soapy water plunge back into the sink.

_No. I couldn't have…_ That something in his teeth makes itself known again, and he opens his mouth and picks at it until it finally dislodges and lands on the basin with a thick plop. It's a grey wad of fabric, soaked through with spit. It takes a bit of delicate maneuvering to unroll it, but once he does, there's no mistaking what it is: a tiny grey t-shirt. Just like the one Dean had been wearing.

_Oh God, I ate him. I ate my brother._

And Sam promptly pukes into the sink.

Then he looks through the chunks to see if he can make out anything else. The mere _idea_ of that makes him puke again. But the puke is clean—er, relatively speaking. No clothes. No teeny amulet.

_Maybe he's still alive._ Sam rushes back to the bedroom, and his eyes go directly to his pillow. There is a patch of blood on the surface, right next to his head imprint, and parts of it are still fresh. There is also a dried trickle down the side, along with a second tiny, bloody footprint. Sam's heart crams into his throat.

"No no no no NO!" He throws the pillow off the bed and tears through the linen. No Dean. He drops to the ground and looks under the bed. A bloody tissue, but no Dean. He grabs the nightstand, the candles, the makeshift Kleenex-box bed, the clock, everything. No Dean! "Come on, dammit, you HAVE to be here!"

"…Sammy?"

Sam's head whips around at the voice behind him, but no one is there. His eyes go to the floor, where his bag is resting near the bed. His hoodie is hanging halfway out, and sitting up in the hood is his little-big brother, looking sleepy but concerned. He's missing his shirt. As Sam is overcome with relief, Dean yawns and asks, "What happened? Are the bed bugs giving you love bites again?"

Sam clomps over and sweeps both Dean and the hoodie into a hug. Little hands press against Sam's cheek. "Hey, easy, I'm not made of plastic! I won't bounce back if you keep squeezing!"

"Sorry!" He smiles down at Dean as he holds him out in his palms. "I'm just really, really glad you're all right. Shit you're cold though…here hang on…" He sets Dean back on the ground for a moment while he goes through Dean's duffel. A few applications of Owen's special clothing treatment mixtures later and Sam presents Dean with his newly shrunk jacket. Dean slips his arms through the sleeves as Sam watches on. "I just grabbed the first jacket I found," he babbles nervously. "And it isn't forever…it'll grow back with you, just like your other clothes. Does it fit?"

"Yeah, it's fine, Sam…you okay?"

Sam gives a few quick nods. "Yeah! Yeah, I'm…yeah. Great." He picks Dean up again and then gently sets him Dean down on the window sill. Dean's eyebrows are askew, effectively telling Sam he doesn't buy the 'I'm great' thing one bit. Sam pretends he doesn't notice as he sits on his bed so he's eyelevel with his brother. "What were you doing in my hoodie hood?"

"Sleeping," Dean shrugs. "I got cold in the Kleenex box—you opened the window wider sometime during the night. And after the bloody nose incident—"

"The what?" Sam's fingers go to his nose and lips as he asks it.

"You were having a nightmare. Kept saying 'need more, need MORE.'" Dean smirks. "At first I thought your dream self was gettin' some, but when you started wrestling with your sheets, I realized it was a nightmare. So I came over and crawled down to the pillow and…" He blushes a little and looks away.

"Dean?" Sam prods. "What did you do?"

"I don't know, dude…what I ALWAYS do, y'know?" His tone matches his reddened cheeks. "Talked you out of it…told you it was okay, I was here, you were safe. That stuff." Sam is visibly touched, and Dean has to look away again. "And you settled down, but then I saw you had the mother of all gushers coming outta your nose. So I ran back, got a Kleenex, climbed down your face—"

"Wait, what?" Sam leans in a bit closer, peering down at Dean. "You climbed down my face?"

Dean holds his arms out to either side. "Six inches tall here, Sammy, so yeah, I climbed down your ginormous face. The pillow was too unstable anyway. So then I was standing there, ah…" He waves in Sam's general direction, "one foot on your lip to keep my balance, and I wiped away the blood."

"That explains the footprint," Sam murmurs, brushing at his lip. He looks down at Dean in quiet awe. "You really did all that for me?"

"Well, yeah, Sammy. It's what I do, right?" Dean asks it like it's the most rhetorical question in history. Again, Sam is touched, but he looks at the blood on his pillow and shudders. Dean sees it, of course. "Sam? Hey, talk to me. You're already looking like the whitest crayon in the box. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just…" Sam clams up, which earns him a knowing eyebrow from Dean, so he keeps going before Dean pesters him. "I saw all the blood and I found your t-shirt in my teeth and…" He forces out a "heh" even as his eyes well up. "I thought I ate you, okay?"

Sam braces for laughter and teasing, but it doesn't come. Instead, Dean replies quietly, "You almost did." Sam has to look away out of sheer guilt, only to feel a tiny hand on his ear. "Hey, I said ALMOST. I'm fine, see? No teeth marks or anything."

"Then how did your shirt get in my mouth?"

"Your nose kept gushing, so I was reaching up to try and plug a nostril with the tissue, and all of a sudden you took in this deep breath. Sucked my shirt right off. And then I got treated to your morning breath." Dean grimaces and wriggles his entire body in disgust. "I've been in sewers that smelled better..."

Sam checks his breath, frowns, and Dean smirks. "Anyway, after that I stayed with you till you fell back asleep. Then I saw your hoodie sticking out of your bag. It looked so nice and warm…not all scratchy and cold, like the box bed. So I slid off there," he points to the trickle of dried blood on the side of the pillow, "climbed down the blanket to the floor, and headed for my new sleeping arrangements. The end." He shivers now as the breeze from the still-open window hits his back; even with the little jacket on, it's still damn early, and the wind is extra cold. Sam's huge hand cups behind him at once, but Dean pushes it away. "I'm fine, Sam," he insists. Sam wilts a little, so Dean clears his throat and adds, "But I wouldn't turn down a lift to the john."

Sam grins, delighted that Dean is actually letting him help HIM for a change. But before he can offer his brother a hand, they hear a fluttering sound. Both pairs of eyes search for appearing angels, but no one is around.

"You think it's the angel who tried to poison you yesterday?" Sam whispers.

"Could be. Hope not."

Then something lands next to Dean on the sill. "Or it could be a barn owl," he declares, looking up at the huge bird as it ducks in next to him. The instant Sam turns to check, the owl snags Dean in its claws and flies off. Sam whips the window all the way open and leans outside.

"DEAN!"

The barn owl dips its wings and soars to the right, heading out toward the salvage yard. Sam tears out of the room, down the stairs, and runs outside, barefoot and still in his sweats. "Dean!" he yells again, scanning the skies for the owl. He hears a faint "Sam!" in reply. Sam spies the bird just as it heads into Bobby's repairs garage. "Hang on, Dean," he says as he rushes off to a hopeful rescue.

But Dean doesn't want to hang on: he's kicking at the bird to get free, but the owl holds on tight. One of its talons has already carved a long gash into Dean's side, and his blood is dripping off the sharp nail. "Come on!" he grunts. "Do I look like piece of wizard mail? Leggo!" The owl screeches down at him as it flies above the rafters in Bobby's garage. Dean has been in here countless times, helping Bobby restore old cars, but he's never seen owls around before. He wonders how long this one has been here. _Long enough_, he decides as a nest appears below him. It rests where two beams meet near the back corner. Two baby owls are crying out to their mama, and Dean gets dropped into the nest and lands between them. They stare at him with their big, orange eyes, cheep-cheeping with wonder, and Dean, ever the animal lover, melts at their adorable, fluffy forms.

"Aww! You're so cute!" He reaches out and pets the soft down on their chests. "I'm gonna name you Fluffernutter and you…Hoots Junior." Hoots Junior repays him by trying to bite his head off. "Hey, watch it! I need that to live!" Fluffernutter pecks at Dean's ass, as he's quickly reminded why he's here. He glares up at the mama bird. "Since when do you snack on handsome human hunters?"

All three lean in to snap at him, but Dean punches the owlets in their beaks while kicking Mama Owl in her craw. They screech in surprise, and their 'lunch' clambers out of the nest and runs down one of the rafter beams. A spear-sized splinter is sticking out of the wood, and Dean grabs it and tears it off. He looks around for Mama Owl, but she's not by the nest. "Sneak attack," Dean says, readying his spear. "I can dig it." Then something falls and clangs on the floor, and Dean makes the mistake of looking down.

His little body freezes with fear.

"Oh…fuck." He's thousands of feet up, looking down at an alien landscape of enormous worktables, gigantic tools, and oil stains the size of Alaska. Directly below him is the blue '68 Chevy Camaro Rally Sport Edition that Bobby's been working on occasionally for the better part of four years. Dean KNOWS that car —he's tinkered with it countless times. But right now, it looks more like a blue, metal behemoth, its maw of a hood up and open and ready to swallow Dean whole, with pistons for teeth and a mechanic's mat for a tongue. It's huge and wrong, and that makes it scary. And it isn't even the biggest thing in the room: that would be the creamy-white '79 Lincoln Continental next to it, so wide and long that it takes up half the garage—and from Dean's perspective, it stretches over county lines. _Too big! _Dean groans in his mind, leaning on the splinter spear to keep his little body from face-planting. _Too far DOWN. FUCK! _The long gash down his side is bleeding badly, making him shake with the onset of shock, so he shuts his eyes and grits his teeth.

_Get a grip, Dean. You're in Bobby's garage. You've been here a bazillion times before. Those are just cars below you, not monsters. You LOVE cars, remember? Now grow a pair and watch out for Mama Owl before—_

"SCREECH!"

Dean's eyes flash open to a face full of angry barn owl. She's flapping in front of him as she tries to grab him. Dean rolls to his left and stabs at her with his splinter spear. She grabs the stick with her talons and breaks it in half. Dean gives a sheepish smile. "You weren't supposed to do that." Her beak snaps at his hair, but he dodges her bite and gets into his well-practiced defense stance. He spies a chain and a pulley on the ceiling behind her; Bobby uses it to lift the engines in and out. The plan forms in his mind, and he waves at the owl to come at him. Her claws splay wide as she grabs for her prey, but Dean makes his move, jumping onto her lowered head. He clings to the feathers on her back as the owl reels, flapping madly to get the pest off her.

"Yeah, who's the bitch now?" Dean yells. The owl dips down to dive, and Dean runs along her back and grabs onto the pulley. _And this time, DON'T look down! _And he doesn't—at least, not until he hears his brother shouting his name.

"Dean!" Sam switches the lights on, but it doesn't make much of a difference—only the lights hanging over the cars illuminate. So Sam looks up at the ceiling, wishing his eyes would hurry up and adjust already. He hears screeching and flapping somewhere above and to his left, so he heads in that direction. The barn owl finally comes into view near the back corner. Her wings are flapping furiously as she circles a chain and pulley. "Dean? You up there?"

"Sam!" Dean waves one hand and nearly loses it for his trouble, thanks to Mama Owl and her ready-to-peck beak. The pulley swings from the motion, so Dean uses its momentum to send a kick into the bird. That just pisses her off: she makes a snatch for him, but a rock sails over Dean's head and hits her in her plumed chest.

"Leave my brother alone!" Sam yells, directly below and readying another rock. The owl flies above the hanging pulley and perches on the thick chain. She screeches down at Sam, who throws another rock, but the chain and pulley are swinging wildly now, so the rock doesn't connect.

"Hey, no pointy ones!" Dean shouts down to Sam. "She's just trying to score some lunch for her kids!"

Sam can't believe his ears. "Yeah, and you're on the menu, Dean!"

The owl grabs for Dean while he's distracted, scraping a talon over his still-burnt-from-the-lightning shoulder. Dean cries out in pain, and he gives the owl another kick. Sam aims a new rock and throws it hard. It connects with the owl's feet, scaring the bird off the chain. Unfortunately, the movement also jars Dean's grip, and suddenly he's falling through space.

"I've got you, Dean!" Sam calls, lining himself up with his tiny, plummeting brother. "I'll catch—OOF!"

Dean lands on Sam all right, but at his normal size; he'd grown back in the half second before he touched Sam's upraised palms. Dean scrambles off and scowls at the newest pains in his body. "Thanks for the rough landing," Dean grumbles. "What happened to catching me?"

"I DID catch you. You're the one who grew!" Sam sits up and brushes off his shirt. "I never said I'd be your stunt cushion." Dean rolls his eyes as he stands up. He offers a hand to his little brother, and Sam takes it. "How'd you grow again, anyway?" he asks when he's on his feet.

"No idea. Maybe fear triggered it."

"Fear?"

Dean looks up at him. "Well, yeah. You know how I feel about flying."

"You weren't flying, Dean, you were falling."

"Same difference! And it sucked out loud." Dean's eyes go to the floor. "It was like skydiving without a parachute."

Sam points to the rafter, where the Mama Owl has just rejoined her owlets. "You were 12-feet off the ground."

"Well it looked a lot higher from up there." _When you're so friggin' small and everything is bigger than you… _Dean is pouting, a little sore that he can't get some damn sympathy from his brother.

Sam shakes his head at him. "Come on. I'll stitch you up before you shower."

Dean follows, but he stops in the doorway and looks back. "Bye Fluffernutter. Bye Hoots Junior. You be good to your mom." He turns back around and into a Sammy face full of 'Really?'

"What?" Dean asks in return. Sam stares at him, blinks once, and turns away, heading back to the house. "WHAT?" Dean shouts, but Sam doesn't say a word. Mama Owl flies out of the garage and perches on the door, offering her two-hoots worth. "Tell me about it," Dean says, and he slumps off after Sam.

* * *

It's still pretty early in the day by the time Dean comes downstairs again for breakfast. The ruckus of Sam running out of the house to save Dean woke Bobby, and the sounds of Dean hissing while being stitched up roused Meesh, who took over for Sam so he could take a shower. Now it's just past six a.m. as Dean joins them in the kitchen, clean and dressed in newly laundered clothes and, much to his supreme joy, his normal size. Owen is up as well, and he is sitting with Sam and Bobby at the table. Meesh is over by the coffee, already pouring Dean a cup.

"Heard you coming down the stairs, sweetie," she greets. "How are you feeling?"

Dean grunts something undecipherable as he sits down, and Bobby smirks. "That good, huh?"

"Yeah." Dean takes his mug from Meesh and nods his thanks. She reaches toward his shirt, but he shrugs her off. "Stitches are fine," he insists. "Just lemme get some food in me, okay?" She nods, and Dean saws into his Belgian waffle. He gets two bites of strawberry-and-whipped-cream-topped-waffle goodness before Bobby gives him a long look. Dean tries to ignore it, but he's never enjoyed being stared at (unless a hot chick is doing the staring), so it isn't long before his eyebrows ask "What?" for him.

"So, how was it?" is Bobby's question.

"Uh…how was what?"

"Being that bird's bitch?"

Sam stifles a laugh, and Dean rolls his eyes at both of them. "I don't want to talk about it," he growls.

"So she didn't let you get to second base," Sam surmises, and now Bobby chuckles. Dean hits them with the full Death Glare, but Bobby smiles right past it.

"Whoa, careful, Sam. He's got that Fluffernutter look in his eyes."

"Great, next he'll send Hedwig after us!"

Dean tries to keep the glare going, but he can't. He knows that if Sam had been stolen by owls, Dean would be making the same jokes. But years of being the older brother is telling him that a chance to turn the teasing tables on his little brother is on its way, so he smiles and nods a 'yeah, yeah' as he readies another bite of his breakfast—and waits for the moment.

"So tell us, Dean," Sam goads, "what did they try to eat first? Your big head or your smart ass?"

Dean swallows carefully, teasing opportunity presented, and keeps his face blank. "Well you're the expert here, Sammy, so why don't you tell me?"

Sam's forehead furrows. "Huh?"

Dean pauses with his bite in midair, eyes quite serious as he observes his brother. "What did YOU go for first? You know, when you tried to eat me this morning."

"What?" Bobby yells.

"Bloody HELL!" Owen shouts.

"Sam!" Meesh scolds. "How could you? He's your brother!"

They all start talking at once, and Dean just eats his breakfast, pausing to smirk every so often as he chews. He gets two more bites in before Sam finally regroups.

"I didn't eat him!" he hollers, chopping his hands through the air to solidify his point. Everyone calms down, and Dean just keeps eating. "I didn't eat him," Sam repeats, "okay? He's fine." Meesh and Owen and Bobby all nod, settling back into their seats. Sam nods in turn and then adds as a final detail, "All I did was suck his shirt off him."

"You what?" Owen asks, looking disturbed.

"Again, he's your BROTHER, so…eww?" Meesh both asks and comments.

"Need some brain bleach," Bobby dismisses.

Sam sighs out through his nose and turns the bitchface on them all. Then he throws Dean a glare and snits a "Thanks."

Dean waves his fork at him. "No problem, glad to help."

Sam balls up his napkin and throws it on his plate as he stands up. "Ready, Bobby?"

"Yeah, just lemme get some jo to go."

Dean frowns as Bobby pushes away from the table. "Where are you two going?" Bobby and Sam look at each other instead of answering, and Dean rests his fork on his plate, appetite lost. "Some place I'm not invited," he guesses.

"Untwist those britches, kid," Bobby says. "We're just checkin' out something local."

"Great, I'll come with you."

"What about breakfast?" Sam asks. Dean shrugs at the question.

"What about it? Job's more important, you know that."

"This isn't a job, Dean, it's just a…safety check."

Dean's eyebrows slowly rise. "On…?"

"Demon activity," Bobby supplies.

"What, like a seal breaking?"

"No," Sam answers, "just…activity."

"JUST activity," Dean repeats, not buying the bullshit story they're selling. Sam in the meantime has straightened up to his full height, not to look intimidating, Dean knows, but to look confident, like he knows what he's talking about. Dean decides to humor him for a little longer. "Well don't keep me in suspense, guys—what's the punch line?" He watches them exchange looks again, longer this time, and he understands. "Ah. I'M the punch line. Got it."

Sam's face settles between a scowl and a frown of sympathy. "Dean…"

"No, no, Sam, it's cool. I got the memo. Can't take me along cos I might fuck everything up, right? Better leave it to Mr. Stronger Faster Better."

Sam rolls his eyes. "It isn't like that."

"Oh really."

"Yeah, Dean, really!"

"Then why can't I come along?"

"Because I say so," Bobby barks, breaking up the sibling argument. Dean folds his arms and leans back in his chair, practically daring Bobby to continue. The older man sighs. "Look, like it or not, you're a liability right now. You can't control your transformations. Yesterday it got so bad that you nearly puked out yer bones, remember?" Dean looks down, but Bobby keeps going. "Dean…you're hurting. And don't tell me yer not!" he yells over Dean's Insta-Protest. "The last thing we need right now is for you to get hurt again, and if you come with us and lose control, that's exactly what'll happen to you."

Dean scratches at his ear. "So what, I'm benched for the rest of the season?"

"No, of course not," Sam assures him. "We just wanted to give you the day off so you could rest."

Dean looks like a child who doesn't want to eat his veggies as he snaps back, "I don't need rest."

"Well, spend it practicing then," Bobby suggests. "I'm sure Owen here would be happy to run through some size trials with ya."

The Brit nods with enthusiasm. "Yeah, brilliant! We should start with trying to get you to shrink again—sort out what sets it off and how to control it."

"I'll pass," Dean growls. "I'm not getting small ever again if I can help it." He sounds so bitter that Sam and Bobby don't push the subject. Owen, however, has not known Dean as long, so unfortunately, he does keep poking at it.

"But it's an amazing ability, Dean! Being able to grow is one thing, but getting small is so much better! Think of all the things you could do!"

"Like have mini-heart attacks all damn day cos everyone you know could step on you and not even notice?" Dean slams back. "Yeah, it's fun to feel weak and vulnerable! I can't WAIT to be up on the fireplace mantel again and feel like I'm standing on the edge of a fucking cliff!"

"Well when you put it like that—"

"NO. Enough, Owen. I'm not goin' back to bein' Smartass Smurf. End of discussion." His words and anger hang in the air, resting atop the layers of tension that had steadily built up the last few minutes. It's Meesh who finally clears her throat and, in the process, clears the air.

"I have to get to work." She grabs her lab coat and gives Bobby a quick kiss, but she pauses in the doorway and looks back at everyone. "Can I trust you boys to get the dishes done BEFORE you start throwing punches?"

"We got it, babe," Bobby swears. "Have a good day at work."

"I'll try, but no promises. C'mon, Owen, walk me to the car so you can get out of here before all the alpha males start buttin' heads again."

He's out of his chair in a blink. "Cheers, Meesh. Couldn't think of an excuse to save my life…"

The moment they're out the door, Bobby looks over at Sam. "S'pose we should get goin' too."

"Right, right, the, uh, safety check for the local demon activity," Dean recalls with a forced smile. "Where did you say you were headin' again?"

"Didn't," Sam responds, checking for messages on his cell phone instead of looking at his brother. His eyes scan the small screen and then he answers Dean's question: "Elk Point."

"'Bout 60-miles south of here," Bobby fills in.

Dean gives them both a look. "Sixty miles away is local?"

"Local enough," Bobby huffs as he slides his arms through his coat sleeves. "We'll be back in a few hours. Call ya if there's any trouble."

Sam and Bobby head out of the kitchen, but they're followed by a low, dangerous chuckle from Dean. When they stop and turn around, they find him regarding his brother and father figure with a heavy weariness.

"Why don't you drop the act and just tell me what you're really up to?"

Bobby shakes his head. "Balls…" Then he readies himself and looks at Dean. "We're going to talk to Ruby."

"Bobby…" Sam warns, but Bobby holds a hand up to silence him. Dean in turn hasn't said a word. He doesn't even look all that surprised by the news.

"I'm gonna ask her a few questions about the other day, see if she knows anything about who poisoned you."

"But Cas already said it was a rogue angel," Dean says.

"Yeah, and maybe Ruby saw something. Never hurts to ask…or in her case, demand."

Dean nods, satisfied that he's finally hearing the truth. "So why the secrecy?"

"Cos Sam here is also gonna see what she knows about the first seal—specifically, if she knew it would break with you down there."

"BOBBY!" Sam shouts, glaring down at him. Dean in turn glares right up at Sam.

"You told him?"

Sam sighs, turning his glare to the floor, but his voice is soft and quiet as he replies, "I had to. I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean nods again. "Aaand we're back to the lies."

"Dean…"

"Just go," he snaps, stomping back to the kitchen.

"What are you going to do while we're gone?" Sam calls as he moves back into the doorway.

Dean snorts at that. "Oh, so suddenly that matters." Turning partway around, he glowers at Sam. "Funny how it didn't till I called your bluff." Grabbing his coffee, he heads out the back door and lets it slam behind him.

"That went well," Bobby murmurs. Sam sighs as he rubs at his forehead.

"I hate this," he admits.

"What, the sneaking around and lying to your brother? Or just the getting caught part?" Bobby waits for an answer, but Sam looks away. Bobby nods, silent answer received. "Uh-huh." He takes his car keys off the hook. "Let's go, kid. Sooner we leave, sooner we're back."

* * *

Tom Petty is telling Dean something he already knows: The waiting is the hardest part. The song is blasting out of Bobby's old transistor radio, hanging in this garage since 1963 and providing musical accompaniment to decades of car restorations. It's still working great despite the layers of duct tape required to hold the old girl together. Dean has always loved that radio. But right now, he's finding it hard not to grab it and throw it at the ground, maybe stomp on it for good measure. All morning, the music has been narrating his day instead of distracting him from it. Seriously, what are the odds that the local Classic Rock station would play Sabbath's "Paranoid," The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again," Zep's "Good Times Bad Times," and Thorogood's "I Drink Alone"—in a ROW?

Now, as the The Heartbreakers strum and drum out the last of the song, Dean stands up and stretches. "Yeah, waiting sucks all right," the DJ comments, "but hey, at least the wait for the Get the Rock Out of South Dakota contest is almost over!" Dean rolls his eyes at the contest name, and he grabs his mug of now cold coffee and takes a sip as the DJ keeps babbling.

"Just two more days till the drawing, and then one of you will be off to the 2009 Paradise Rocks festival in Hono-freaking-lulu, Hawaii. All expenses paid, people! Keep those entries coming!"

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Dean says after a swallow. "Oh no wait, I won't, cos people like me don't get vacations." He glares at the radio. "Get back to the music already, Chuckles!"

The DJ pays no attention to Dean's grumblings. "Okay, it's 10:03 a.m. and here is Jeff with our traffic report…"

Dean checks his watch, frowning when the digital display matches the DJ's announcement. Then he grabs his phone and checks for missed calls or waiting texts, but there aren't any. Grumbling, he drinks the last of his coffee before he goes back under the Camaro's hood.

"Four hours," he gripes. "Four freaking hours, and not one call from either of them."

"Cheep?" a member of his audience asks.

"Sam n' Bobby," Dean answers, glancing up at the owlets. "We've been over this." Hoots Junior and Fluffernutter keep their bright eyes trained on him. Mama Owl left a while ago, apparently trusting Dean enough to let him owl-sit. That suited him just fine—one more thing to concentrate on and try and keep his mind off of what might be going on down in Elk Point. TRY being the key word, of course, and if the lack of progress he's made on the car is any indication, Dean's thoughts have been on everything but the Camaro in front of him. When the wrench suddenly locks up, he realizes he's been tightening the same socket for the last hour, so he drops the tool in defeat.

"This is nuts," he mutters. "I mean, they're not down there thinking about ME, right?" He backs away from the car and adds, quietly, "Why would they?"

Fluffernutter flaps its wings, and Dean looks up at the owl siblings. "But they could call with an update, right? Or text? Send a damn smoke signal, I don't care! Just don't…" _…keep me out of the loop, _he finishes in his mind. _Leave me behind. Make me sit it out. _His eyes fall to the floor, which is slowly moving away from him. He realizes he's growing, and he sighs through his teeth.

"Right. Liability. Like I needed a reminder..." Dean shuts his eyes and focuses on calming down: the last thing he needs is to make his day even worse by bursting through the garage and killing the owls and the old cars. The growth spurt stops just as the tips of hair on top of his head graze the ceiling, leaving him just over 10-feet tall. The owlets are now eye-level with him, but they don't seem afraid. Hoots Junior cheeps at him, and Fluffernutter cocks its head just so, cute and curious.

"I just don't understand…WHY they had to lie to me," Dean tells his little listeners. "It's bad enough that Sammy lies all the time, but now Bobby's in on it, too? Who the hell can I trust anymore?"

"Cheep!" Hoots Junior replies, ruffling its feathers, and Dean smiles at it.

"Well thanks little guy, but that's not gonna help me on hunts."

The radio starts playing Boston's "Peace of Mind," and Dean chuckles as the soundtrack of his life resumes. But there is no mirth in the laugh—only melancholy. "I'm so tired. Angels and demons, seals and the Apocalypse…Lilith and Ruby and Alistair and whatever douchebag angel tried to poison me…the daily flashbacks, the nightly nightmares…Cas telling me to watch over Sammy, and Sammy…ditchin' me whenever he can, then telling me he still wants me around…" Dean pinches the skin between his eyes. "Everything's so damn complicated. But hey," he chuckles again as he looks at the owlets, "that's how it's always been, right?" He pets each of the birds with an index finger. "S'pose I should just be glad it isn't any worse. Yet."

"Talkin' to owls now?" Bobby asks, and Dean looks down and finds the hunter smirking at him from the garage entrance. He walks forward and adds, "Y'know, the first step is admitting there's a problem…"

Dean shrugs. "We have an understanding: I don't scare them, and they don't poop in the engine blocks."

Bobby shakes his head at him, though he can't hide the fondness in his eyes. He holds out one of the beers he's brought with him, and Dean shrinks down and accepts it. "Getting better at the size shifting?" Bobby asks, pointing at Dean with the lip of his bottle. Dean shrugs again as he sips and swallows.

"Sometimes my body follows orders. Most times, it does whatever the hell it wants." He rests against the side of the big Lincoln, and the two men take a few more gulps. Boston fills in the air between them until Dean clears his throat. "So? We sticking to small talk, or are you gonna tell me what happened?"

Bobby pushes the brim of his cap up. "Not much t' tell. Ruby said she didn't see anything the day you got poisoned."

"And you believed her?"

"Hate to say it, but yeah. I looked her right in the eye. She was tellin' the truth. For once," he puts in just before taking another sip.

"What about the first seal?" Dean asks quietly.

"Didn't get a chance to ask her about that," Bobby replies, sounding apologetic. "She started yammering on about priorities and taking care of the demons in the area, and Sam jumped right on board. That's all we talked about the rest of the meeting."

"All right, so what happened then?"

Bobby shrugs this time. "Nothing."

Dean throws him a look. "Nothing," he repeats. "Nothing happened."

"No, Dean, we just drove back here. Set a few wards on the way and strengthened the ones around the front of the salvage yard, but that's about it."

"And that took four hours?" Dean is fuming, and he moves into a pace. "Wow, sure is a good thing I stayed behind. All that driving and warding would've tired me out!"

Bobby frowns at him. "It ain't like that, Dean. Never was. And it took so long on account-a Sam and Ruby trying to get a minute alone. Not that I let them outta my sight for one second…" There's a glint in the hunter's eyes as he tells Dean this information, and at once, the anger in Dean's blood cools, replaced by interest.

"They're planning something," Bobby says. "While you were in the shower this morning, I caught Sam yelling into his phone and acting…weird."

"Weird how?"

"All riled up and desperate, like a junkie needin' a fix. After he hung up, I asked him what that was all about. Sam said it was nothin', of course. I didn't buy it, so eventually he told me he had to meet with Ruby right away, that she had some really important demon intel. And I said, all right, when do we leave?"

Dean smirks at that. "You invited yourself along to Sam's secret rendezvous?"

Bobby nods. "He wasn't exactly happy about it, either. Told me it could be dangerous, and I told him that was all the more reason I should go along. Then he brought you up, said I should stick around in case you needed me—that you had a rough night. So I looked right at him and asked what he was trying to hide. Said it was nothing, again, that he was just trying to look out for you. When I made it clear that I wasn't movin' till I got a real answer, he finally told me about you breaking the first seal."

Dean's face falls, and he looks away. "Yeah," he says quietly. "About that…"

"Dean." Bobby speaks the name so kindly that Dean can't help but look up at him, hope in his eyes for a change, and Bobby is glad to see it. He puts a hand on Dean's shoulder and tells him, "It's okay."

Dean is incredulous. He shoves Bobby's arm off and steps away from the car. "It's okay?" he shouts. "Are you fucking kidding me? Bobby…this…" He waves his arms around. "ALL of this…it's my fault, don't you get it? _I_ broke in Hell, _I_ broke the first seal, and now people are dying all over the world because of ME! How is ANY of that okay?"

"Because you didn't do it on purpose!" Bobby barks. Dean won't meet his eye, so Bobby sets his beer down, moves over to him, puts both hands on the younger man's shoulders, and gives him a shake at arm's length. "You were tortured…for 30 YEARS, Dean! How the hell you lasted even THAT long is proof of what a strong man you are!"

"Doesn't matter," Dean huffs. "I still broke, Bobby. I was weak. Damaged…" He shakes his head, gaze remaining on the floor. "Now everybody else has to suffer just because I wasn't strong enough."

"Bullshit. That's your daddy speaking."

"Well he's right. And I should still be down there, serving my time for what I did. It's not like I deserved to be freed. Shit, the only reason Cas pulled me out in the first place was to fix the mess I made." Dean laughs at himself and hoists his beer to his lips. "We are so screwed…"

He takes a long drink, walking off, and Bobby sighs from behind him. "D'you remember the day you came back here once Cas sprung ya? How you found me?"

"Drowning yourself in booze," Dean nods.

"Kinda like you nowadays." Bobby's comment does not get a response, so he goes on. "Didja ever wonder why I was floating my liver down the Great Whiskey River?"

Dean purses his lips as he muses on it for a moment. "Figured it was over Sammy," he answers at length. "And the world going to shit. Drink 'em if you got 'em, right?"

"Sometimes it was over Sam," Bobby admits. "Mad at him for leaving me in the dark, and worried about him even more. But no, most days…I was drinkin' cos I was mad at myself."

Dean's eyebrows dip in concern. "What? Why?"

Bobby sighs, "For lettin' you down." Dean is taken aback, but Bobby cuts him off when he tries to reply. "After Sam got stabbed, and we took him back to that crappy cabin…I left you alone. Balls," he spits, "KNEW I shouldn't-a left, even as I was getting in the car to do just that. You were drowning in your grief and I…walked away."

"Yeah, because I told you to!" Dean argues.

"And I listened to ya! Should've stayed, should've…" He shakes his head at himself, still so frustrated after all these years. "Point is, I left, and you made that deal. And when Sam and I failed to find a way to save you, you went to Hell. So enough with the blamin' yourself over everything that went wrong, all right? It's my fault. Always has been." And with that, he takes a long tug on his beer.

Dean is in shock. "Bobby…"

"Save it," the hunter grouses. "Don't deserve any comfort, and don't want yer pity."

"Then how about some truth?" Dean offers. Bobby doesn't reply, just drinks. "Look, man, there is no way you could have known I was gonna make that deal. Hell, _I _didn't even know right away! So just…stop beating yourself up over nothing, all right?"

Bobby nods and carefully sets his beer back down. "You should take your own advice, kid. How were you supposed to know that you were breaking the first seal? It's not like any of them told you, right? Fact is you didn't even know what a seal was until you were topside again."

Dean shakes his head no. "It isn't the same thing, Bobby."

"The hell it ain't! And I'm not the only one who thinks so. That brother of yours…" Bobby takes his hat off and scrubs at his hair, trying to rid himself of all the worries itching in his brain. "If they gave out ribbons for holding grudges, Sam would take first every year. And I ain't talking about the one he's got against Lilith." He puts his cap back on and looks plainly at Dean. "It's the one he's got against himself that gets me nervous."

"What's he blaming himself for this time?" Dean asks in a tone as grim as his facial expression. "No wait, let me guess—it's somehow HIS fault that I broke the first seal." Bobby utters a quiet "yep" and Dean shakes his head no. "Shit." He looks toward the entrance of the garage as he thinks on his brother. _Dammit, Sammy, we TALKED about this._ _I'M the screw up! I'M the one who was down there, not you! You should hate ME, not yourself!_

He finishes off his beer in a few desperate swallows, thoughts and emotions swirling around inside him. _And you won't even talk to me. You never had a problem saying what was on your mind before! What changed, Sammy? Why the hell do Bobby and Ruby know more about you these days than I do? Why don't you TRUST me anymore? Fuck…why can't I trust YOU anymore?_ _I HATE this! _Dean rolls his arm back to throw the bottle…but stops himself. A broken bottle won't fix anything, and knowing his luck, which is always the bad kind, he'll get glass fragments in the tire treads. So he settles down and leans back against the Lincoln.

"Something else is going on with him," Bobby murmurs. Dean's eyes slowly drift up to Bobby face and find it troubled. "All mornin' he was on edge…jittery, ornery… That drive back was a real pip. I'd no more than open my mouth and he'd be growling at me to shut up, quit wasting time. 'Course then he'd get all doe-eyed and apologize right away, and it would be back to silence for a few more miles until I tried to talk again." Bobby looks at Dean. "He been like that around you lately?"

"Sometimes," Dean admits. "Well, more than sometimes…but never that bad." He ruminates on it while Bobby finishes his beer. _Sure, Sam can be a whiny bitch when he wants to, but THAT bitchy? Practically biting Bobby's head off just for talking? That's not my little brother. So what's going on?_

Dean thinks back to the start of the conversation. "You said Sam and Ruby are planning something?"

Bobby nods. "Yeah. I'm sure of it. More than that, I'm pretty sure Sam knows that I know something's up. He was texting Ruby during the whole drive so I couldn't overhear him again. And when I ducked into the kitchen before I came out here, he was on the phone again. Hung up the moment he saw me. But it's obvious what they're talking about—he's got the map right there on the table."

"What map?"

The older hunter heaves a long sigh this time before answering. "Sam's been keeping up a road map of sorts, tracking demons based on Ruby's intel and the ones Sam sent back to Hell himself. And no," he holds his hand out to answer Dean's question before it's asked, "he didn't want you knowing about it cos he knew you didn't want to hear anything Ruby had to say. I only agreed to keep quiet about it because I made him promise that when it came time to make the big play against Lilith, that we'd make it together, you included."

"And you think he's making that play soon?" Dean asks, and Bobby nods.

"Real soon. And I got a strong feeling our tickets to the game are gonna get lost in the mail."

"Great." _More secrets, more lies…this just gets better and better. _Dean rolls the empty beer bottle back and forth in his palms as he mulls his options. _Can't call him on it, cos he'll just lie to me again. Can't stop him, cos he'll probably sneak out again while I'm having a nightmare. No, I need to find out the truth, and there's no way he'll tell me, so I gotta be sneaky: hear the plans and stop him before he gets himself killed. _He smiles slightly as he thinks about bugging Sam's phone…and a small idea begins to take shape.

"Hey Bobby, have you seen Owen?"

"Yeah, he's back at the house, getting ready to take off. Why?"

"Tell him I think I'll take him up on his shrinking lessons after all."

Bobby's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? What changed your mind?"

"Nothing, just realized I could use a little help. Pun intended."

Bobby folds his arms, suspicious. "Uh-huh. Well whatever you're really up to, be careful. You're hurt enough already."

Dean grins. "Bobby, come on! This is me we're talking about!"

"Yeah. That's just what worries me." The hunter moseys out of the garage, leaving Dean alone to strategize. Just as the major points of the plan fall into place, there's a knock at the garage door's frame.

"Dean?" Owen asks, pushing up his glasses in his usual nervous tick. "Bobby tells me you want to try some shrinking exercises after all."

"Yeah, I would, if you have some time before you go…"

Owen smiles and steps inside. "Absolutely! I can use my teleport amulet to hop back to mine at any time. Let's get started! I thought that first we might—"

"Wait, hold on a sec," Dean interrupts. "There's something I need to know first." Owen shuts his mouth and nods at Dean to go on. Dean smiles and gives a slightly bashful chuckle. "This is gonna sound really random, but…do you know how to make illusions?"

Owen shrugs. "Yes, of course. What sort of illusion do you need?"

"A really, really, really believable one. The kind where you don't know you're looking at an illusion because it's an exact copy of the real deal. Can you do that?"

"Shouldn't be a problem at all. What am I making an illusion of?"

Dean points to his head. "Read my mind and find out."

Owen shuts his eyes and concentrates. A smile slowly creeps onto his face, and as he opens his eyes, he finds Dean smirking right back. "Wicked," Owen beams. "Let's get started."

Above them, the owlets look at each other and cheep, wondering what their featherless big brother is up to now.

* * *

**A/N Additional:** Peacejojo was nice enough to once again make some manips for the story! Go to my profile to see them, and then make sure to drop her a line and tell her how awesome she is!


	7. The Bug, the Mosquito, and the Spider

**Measure of a Man **(continued)

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**A/N: **Thank you all SO MUCH for your kind words and your reviews! They truly make my day :) Fair warning about this 32(!)-page chapter: there is some serious Hurt coming up, with pretty much no comfort. In fact, it's this chapter that inspired me to write this sequel in the first place. When you're done reading, you'll either be rolling in the glorious Man Pain, or you'll be ready to murder me. Maybe both? Good thing I've got a great hiding spot ready and waiting for me. Any rate, you've been warned…

* * *

**Chapter Seven: The Bug, the Mosquito, and the Spider**

It's just after 4 p.m., and Sam's patience has been dulled down to a fine nub.

Around lunchtime, Ruby stopped answering Sam's texts. No reason, just Ruby being Ruby, and Sam is beyond pissed. He's called her, texted her, even contemplated summoning her, but didn't, knowing it wouldn't work since Bobby and, before him, Cas, upped the wards all around the house and property, making the place 200% demon-proof. So Sam kept calling. Kept texting. Kept swearing up a storm. Bobby has been upstairs working on research and every now and then, Sam heard a thump from above followed by a "Keep it down!" or "Give it a rest already!" But Sam can't. He has to see her tonight. He can't survive another night

_without her blood_

worrying over Dean and what's going to happen to him next. He needs to

_get blood_

finalize a plan that will take down Lilith once and for all so he

_can feast on her blood_

can finally stop

_drinking blood_

sneaking out and can

_blood_

take care of

_blood!_

Dean till he's

_blood get blood want blood!_

better.

He's so _thirsty_. Swallowing water and coffee just isn't cutting it—he KNOWS what he craves. So Sam sends his 121st text of the day to the only person—demon—who can help. It goes unanswered. He drops the phone on the table and rubs his tired eyes. He has an inkling that this silent treatment is due to their unexpected guest at this morning's meet-up. Ruby was less than cordial with Bobby, and a bitch-and-a-half to Sam himself, no matter what he said or did to keep the peace.

_It isn't MY fault Bobby tagged along. I didn't know he was eavesdropping on our phone call! How could I? And I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn't listen. I had no choice!_ Peeking out at the phone, Sam groans with irritation and fatigue. _I really don't have time for a grudge match right now, Ruby…_

Dizziness hits as another craving takes hold of him, mind, body, and probably, scarily, soul, too. He never used to get dizzy. Of course, he never used to get cravings for demon blood, either. Both would worry him a great deal if he'd stop to really think about it—analyze what's been happening to him over all these months with that detail-oriented brain of his. But he doesn't analyze and doesn't worry: the side of him that feels justified in what he's been doing with Ruby tells him there's no point, assures him everything will be fine just as soon as he gets one more taste. One more jolt. One more sweet rush that lifts him up, fills him out, and makes him something MORE. When he's strong, everything will fall into place. It always has, and it always will. He just has to get to Ruby and take what he wants, one last time.

_Last time, _his Conscience scoffs. _We both know THAT'S a lie…_

Sam ignores his inner voice. He can't afford second guessing himself right now—not with the world at stake. Not with Dean in danger.

_Riiiight, like this is still about saving the world and protecting Dean. It's been different for months and you know it, Sam! It's all about you now—you and that damn bloodlust you've developed. Dean is just your excuse so you can keep on doing Wrong in your twisted notion of Right. _

_It isn't wrong,_ Sam thinks back. _I have to be strong to stop Lilith, and the blood makes me strong. I can do this. I HAVE to do this._

His Conscience chuckles. _Fuck you're deluded. Okay, fine, keep dining on demon blood. Let all that dark, evil energy consume you until the inevitable day when it takes over and you lose control._ Sam is instantly incensed at the very idea, and his Conscience swiftly adds, _Oh that's right, you're too strong and powerful now to make mistakes. You're unstoppable! Off on a mission of revenge to stop the monster that hurt your family! _The voice chuckles again. _How's it feel turning out just like dear old Dad? _

Sam slams his fist on the table, and the pain clears his head. He breathes. In. Out. He's fine. Yeah, he's still craving demon blood, but dammit, he's FINE. _I am in control, _he tells himself. _Focus. One step at a time. Call Ruby. Meet up with her tonight. Get more blood. Be strong. Be in control._

The deep breathing helps the dizziness to gradually diminish, and then he picks up his cell and calls her. Voice mail again. Electronic voice informing him that User 3588 is unavailable—AGAIN. And there's the beep, and here goes Sam. "Dammit, I know you're there! You think you're funny? Huh? Just…stop playing games. This is important! CALL ME BACK!"

He slams the phone down on the tabletop, cracking the plastic casing—just as Owen appears in the kitchen's doorway. The Brit looks alarmed, so Sam hangs his head as he leans forward in his chair. "Sorry. Just…frustrated."

"If that's you frustrated, I hope I never see you angry." Owen takes a tentative step forward. "Everything all right in Sam Land?"

Sam gives a very small laugh. "Sam Land has seen better days," he admits, looking up at Owen. "Where's Dean?"

"Still out in the garage, practicing his size shifting."

Sam's eyebrows lift up: he had no idea Dean had decided to practice after all. "How's he doing?"

"Let's just say it isn't too sunny in Dean Land, either," Owen sighs. "Personally, I think he's come a long way, but Dean won't accept anything but a perfect performance from himself. Which is bonkers, of course, but—"

"But that's Dean," Sam finishes with a sad but knowing look. "You can thank our dad for pretty much cementing that idea into his head."

"Well he's really stressing out, which is just making him lose control of his size shifts even more. Vicious cycle. So I ordered him to take a break."

Sam smirks. "Ordered him, huh? How'd he take that?"

"Well, being that the order came from Psychic Centeral," Owen taps his head, "Dean didn't have much of a choice in the matter." Sam frowns, not sure he likes the idea of Owen giving his brother telepathic orders, and Owen frowns right back when he both sees and senses Sam's unease. "Oy, I needed a bevvie break myself! We've been at it for hours! Erm, n-not like that," he quickly amends. Sam rolls his eyes, and Owen walks past him to the fridge. "Time for a beer. Would you like one?"

"No, thanks. Kinda have a headache."

"Cravings getting out of control, eh..."

Sam frowns again, and he turns around at Owen to ask what he means by that. Owen beats him to the punch: he straightens, beer in hand, and states plain as day, "Yeah, Sam, I know about the demon blood. Known for a while, actually." He sips at his beer as he walks back around the table, Sam staring at him the entire time, and takes the seat opposite the shocked Winchester.

"How?" Sam finally asks.

"Well not by sneaking about inside your mind, if that's what you're thinking, and you are," Owen huffs. "I don't do that. Ever. It's not right and it's deffo not my place." He leans forward, resting his left forearm on the table. "But I HAVE been in your mind before, I'm sure you'll recall. Add to that the fact that I'm also empathic and, well, let's just say I'm a bit more in tune with you than other people."

"Meaning?"

Owen takes a quick sip of beer. "Meaning that your nightmares have become mine." Tipping his chin down, he throws Sam a dark look over his spectacles. "I'm there, Sam. Not just when your dreams push into my head, but any time you feel anything strongly—pain, fear, anger…even the rush of Ruby's blood."

The color is draining from Sam's face as he sits petrified in his chair. "Have you told Dean?" he asks, almost in a whisper. Owen shakes his head.

"No. God knows I want to, but no. You need to be the one to tell him if you ever hope to truly reconcile with your brother."

Sam looks broken as he confesses, "…I can't."

"You CAN," Owen argues. "But you won't. You've got…how do you Yanks put it…too much of a good thing going here, am I right?"

"You think I'm doing this for fun?" Sam snaps.

"No, I think you're doing this because it feels good. Really, fucking, amazingly good. Christ, it's Nige all over again…" Owen shakes his head and drinks his beer.

"Nige?"

"Old mate of mine—hunter, just like you, but back home. Nige was one of the best there ever was. Smart, fast, strong, clever…once took out a pack of werewolves thirty strong, all by himself." Sam whistles, and Owen nods. "But it wasn't enough for Nige. He always wanted to be more, y'know? Stronger, faster, better…so he started pushing steroids."

Sam's eyebrows rise straight up. "A hunter on steroids? Seriously?"

"Mm. He was a big fella even before he started on the drugs, so when he bulked out, whoooa…" Owen holds his arms out to demonstrate. "Like a massive brick wall on legs. And it STILL wasn't enough. So he started dabbing in dark magic—blood rites, spirit bindings, that sort of thing, until nothing could stop him." He looks down at his beer. "Not even his mates."

Captivated, Sam scoots closer to the table. "So what happened to him?"

Owen hesitates before answering. "One night, we were out hunting vamps—me, Nige, and Alan, a younger hunter whom Nige had taken under his wing. It was a huge nest, 100-plus strong, and it had taken Nige months to trace the pattern of attacks back to the old mill they were using as a home. The plan was for me to use spells to stun the vamps and give Alan and Nige the chance to chop their heads off. But Nige didn't wait. He just ran in and started ripping heads off their bodies. It was incredible to see…but fuckin' scary to watch. Nige was more of an animal than the fangs he was fighting. Meantime, Alan and I kept back and stuck to the plan. I'd freeze them, he'd chop. Finally Nige got the head vamp in his big hands, and just as he was about to kill him, Alan cried out: one of the females had jumped him and threatened to snap his neck if Nige didn't let her father go. I tried to freeze her but it didn't take—she was strong enough to resist. So Nige had no choice but to let the head vamp go. Father and daughter ran off into the night, leaving the rest of us in the mill with over a hundred decapitated bodies."

Owen takes a long drink from his beer before he continues. "Then Nige…" he croaks out, so he clears his throat and begins again. "Nige went mad. Alan was still getting his breath back when Nige went into this…this RAGE, yelling at Alan for ruining the hunt and letting the vamps get away. Alan apologized up and down, but Nige was so worked up…he started strangling him. I tried to break it up, but Nige kicked me through the wall, like it was nothing! I couldn't get up at first, and I could hear Alan…God, poor Alan, crying and begging Nige to let him go. But Nige must have just kept squeezing because then I heard this awful sound, like…spletch. I forced myself to my feet and ran back inside, and there..." He swallows hard. "I found Alan's head on the ground, next to his crushed neck. And Nige was standing above him, hands clasped together and thick with Alan's blood…asking me what he'd done. Over and over again. 'What'd I do, Owen? What'd I…'"

The psychic has to stop and drink again, and the awful story hangs in the air between them. Sam is too stunned to say anything.

"Sam…"

His name makes him jolt, and he looks up at Owen's very serious face.

"Don't become Nige. Stop drinking the demon blood before it's too late, and you hurt someone. Otherwise you'll wind up in sanitarium on constant suicide watch, haunted by what you've done every hour of every day. That's what happened to Nige. You're better than that, Sam. Better than him, even." He stands up, taking his beer with him, and turns to head out of the kitchen.

"But how am I supposed to help Dean?" Sam queries, sounding young, lost, and afraid. Owen pauses in the doorway and looks back at him.

"Be his brother," he smiles. "Be THERE."

Sam watches him leave and soon hears the front door open and shut. His footfalls on the gravel fade off as he heads back to the garage. Sam is alone with his thoughts. He thinks about Nige. He thinks about Dean. But mostly, he thinks about blood. He wants more blood. Every part of his being craves it. He looks down at his hands. They're shaking. His heart is racing, pounding a hypnotic jungle beat through his body, linking carnal desire to eased rationale. Need blood. Need blood. Need blood.

He shuts his eyes tight. _No. I don't need it. I WANT it, sure, but that's a big difference. God I want it. But I don't need it. I'm not an addict. I'm not Nige, I'm Sam Winchester. I'm in control._

His ears perk as his phone vibrates on the table. Sam picks it up and has a look at the incoming text:

'Canton Gateway Motel. Midnight. Ditch the chaperone this time.'

The jungle beat goes into a frenzy as the excitement of getting a fix takes hold. Sam pretends he doesn't notice and just shuts the phone off, calm as can be.

_Yeah, you're really in control, _his Conscience comments.

Sam ignores that as well.

* * *

Just under seven hours later, as the clock ticks over to 11 p.m., any control Sam may have had is gone—not that he notices, or even really cares. His desire for demon blood has become a full-on Want, overpowering his senses and his sensibility with urgency. He has to get to Ruby. NOW.

He sits up in bed, fully clothed save for his boots, and looks over at Dean's bed. It's still empty, just as it has been every other time he's checked since he turned in early, around 9 that night. Sam hasn't seen his brother since breakfast the day before, but he heard him stomp in through the front door around 9:30. Is he asleep on the couch, as Sam dearly hopes? Or is he down there guarding the door, waiting for Sam to make a break for it?

The Want tells him it doesn't matter—just get moving. He's on his feet at once. Practiced hands slip the boots on and tie them easily despite the darkness of the room, and in seconds, he's out the door and moving down the hall. He deftly steps around known creaks in the floor, having mastered this nighttime ritual long ago, and he's soon at the stairs, having made no sound at all.

That's when the dizziness hits him, and he's forced to lean against the banister for support. It gets worse the longer he lingers, as if he's being punished by his Want for wasting time.

_You don't have to listen to it! _his Conscience pipes up. _Remember what Owen told you! Remember your fear, your dread! Take control of your body and tell that Want of yours NO!_

Sam lists over the railing, swayed by the words of reason, but the Want overcomes his resolve, soothing the dizziness and doubts from Sam's mind and replacing them with a simple command: Go. And Sam does, creeping down the stairs as he simultaneously slips into his jacket. He gets to the bottom and spies a form on the old couch: Dean. Sam holds his breath and stands very still, listening carefully to Dean's slumbering breaths. They're deep and even, but not overly so; his brother really is asleep. Sam silently breathes out his relief and turns to the door. One hand reaches for the doorknob while the other pats his pocket for his cell phone. The pocket is empty.

His phone is charging in the kitchen, right where he left it. And to get to the kitchen, he has to go past Dean.

_Dammit. _

Again, the Want comforts him, reminding Sam that he's done this so many times before that they've both lost count. Dean didn't catch him then. Dean won't catch him now. So Sam makes haste in crossing the room, watching Dean the whole time just to be sure. His brother sleeps on, oblivious as always. Sam unhooks his phone from the charger, pockets it, and crosses the room again, not bothering to check on Dean this time, because the Want assures him it's unnecessary. It urges him out the door, down the front steps, and into the yard.

Dean smiles as he hears the keys go in the Impala's ignition, and he sits up as the car's headlights beam into the front room for a moment. The light showcases the rippling effect that engulfs Dean's body as it transforms, and a moment later, Owen reaches under the couch and grabs his spectacles and teleportation amulet. So far, Dean's plan is going perfectly.

"Good luck, Dean," Owen whispers, and teleports back home.

Oblivious to being duped, Sam is already pulling onto the highway, and soon the Impala is rocketing her way toward Canton. She rumbles her annoyance at being taken out to see Ruby again, and it drowns out the tiny grumblings coming from inside Sam's right jacket pocket:

"It's bad enough you sneak out, but you take my baby along, too?"

Dean, one inch high and fuming, says it aloud, knowing he's too small to be heard by Sam. After all, he hadn't even noticed the Dean-shaped bug attached to the back of his cell phone as he picked it up off the table. No, it's clear from the speed he's driving and the tight grip on the wheel that his enormous little brother is focused on one thing and one thing only. Now if only Dean knew what that one thing was.

If only he didn't dread finding out.

Pushing the giant, balled-up tissue away from him, Dean settles into the absolute corner of the pocket. Anxious doesn't begin to describe how he feels: he's so excited from the rush of his plan being set in motion that his little legs are bouncing with energy. And at the same time, he's so nervous about what he'll learn tonight that he's nauseas. He knows it's going be something big, possibly game-changing, if not life-changing.

_And I won't find out anything if get squished first, _he thinks as Sam's huge hand reaches for the equally huge phone resting across from Dean. The pocket expands to ballroom size once the phone is gone, leaving Dean and the tissue pressed up to one side as wallflowers. His heart starts pounding away, bringing with it the overwhelming urge to grow and get out of this weird situation, but Dean clenches his teeth and breathes deeply through his nose. _Not yet, _he tells his body. _Not until we find out the truth. _But the room with fabric walls still seems way too big, so Dean shuts his eyes and focuses on what Owen told him earlier, during Dean's practice shrinks:

'_Don't think about being small and vulnerable, because you'll end up…how did you put it?_

'_Stalled', _Dean had answered, referring to how it felt when he couldn't make himself change size. _'Like when your car won't start.'_

_Right, that. So keep your mind off the bad stuff and focus on the positive instead, yeah? You're not small, you're secret. You're not vulnerable, you're sly. Think of how you sneak up on a monster while you're hunting.'_

'_So…ninja?'_

'_Yes, if that's what will work. I was thinking more along the lines of subterfuge…James Bond, if you will.'_

'_Yeah, and I was thinking ninja.' _

Dean's face falls just as it had at that point in the conversation, bringing up the same memory now as it had then: a motel room. Mattresses propped up against the door and over windows. Dean ready to kill Gordon, Sam unwilling to let him take the risk. _'Sam once told me I was going kamikaze,' _Dean had partially explained to Owen. _Seems like such a long time ago now. Before Hell. Before the deal came due.'_ He'd shaken his head as he thought back on it. _Back then he did everything he could to get me to stay. Now he can't get far enough away from me. Lies, leaves, then lies about why he left. _

Owen had given Dean such a look of sympathy that the hunter had to look away. _He still cares about you, Dean, _Owen had tried to reassure him. _I know Sam, and—'_

'_I know him better,' _Dean had growled, and that was the end of it.

Now, sitting here in Sam's pocket as his little brother races off to God knows where, Dean can't help but wonder if his statement is still true. Does he really know Sam better than anyone anymore? _Not if I have to resort to spying on him, _Dean decides. Saddened, he rests the back of his head against the pocket lining, fighting to keep despair from eating away at his resolve.

_Head in the game, Dean,_ he coaches his thoughts. _Keep your head in the game._

Little clicky sounds grab his attention, and Dean's eyes go wide as he puts two and two together: phone + clicky sounds = texting. "Oh you are NOT texting while driving my baby," Dean growls, getting to his feet. He jumps up to the top of the pocket and glares up at Sam who, sure enough, is texting away, though to Dean's relief, he looks up after nearly every click to check the road. Still, he can't believe what he's seeing. _How many times have you bitched about safety on the road? You're the one who told Dad to get seatbelts installed, and when he refused, you sulked for a WEEK! _

As Dean watches on, Sam finishes his text, but instead of setting the phone back in his pocket, he keeps it in his hand, holding it between his palm and the wheel as he speeds up. Dean checks the speedometer just as Sam's phone vibrates. "We're pushing 80, and you're reading a text," Dean laughs bitterly, wiping a hand down his face to remove the disbelief. "If we survive this trip, I'm using the crowbar to pry your head out of your ass."

The Impala hears him and rumbles her agreement, but he points his tiny index finger at her. "You're not exactly on my good side either, sweetheart. You've been an accomplice to these sneak outs for how long and you haven't said a word about it! And with everyone in my life is lying to me…I thought at least I could rely on you. Thanks for proving me wrong." She chokes up, and the car begins to slow down. Sam starts swearing as he tries all the wrong things to get her back up to speed, so Dean tells his baby to knock it off before she blows a head gasket. "You can make it up to me by playing along so I can find out what's going on with Sammy tonight. Okay?" She sputters back to smooth driving at once. "Okay. Good." And Dean slips back down into the pocket and tries not to think about what's next.

They drive on. Sam doesn't send any other texts, for which Dean is grateful, but he keeps pushing the car to drive harder. He's shaking, too, and badly, jostling both Dean and the balled-up tissue around like lottery balls in a spinner. Dean's worry moves up to Orange on his own personal Terror Alert system. When the Impala slows as they reach their exit ramp, it jumps up to Red as giant, trembling fingers drop the cell phone back in the pocket. Dean narrowly avoids getting his legs crushed under the weight by pulling his knees to his chest just in time. His heart is still racing from that near miss as the creak of the opening car door crashes through his ears. Sam gets out of the car, and Dean looks up and spies a neon sign high above.

_Canton Gateway Motel, _Dean reads. _So we're not in Elk Pointe. Explains the shorter car ride…_

The pocket shifts up as Sam knocks on a room's door, and the tissue ball rolls on top of Dean—lucky for him, as it acts as a shield between him and the giant cell phone. Dean does his best to not think about the dried boogers smooshing up against him, and he trains his ears on what's going on around him. The door opens, and the bottom of Ruby's chin comes into view.

"You made it." She looks him up and down and frowns. "You look like shit."

Sam pushes past her and goes into the room. The pocket shifts again as he takes his jacket off and hangs it on the back of a chair. Dean waits until Sam's shadow falls away before he climbs up and has a peek outside. They're in a typical motel room, though this place is a few stars above the kind of crap-shacks the brothers routinely call home. Sam turns around, and Dean gets his first clear look at his brother since breakfast that morning. Ruby was right: Sam DOES look like shit. He's pale and sweaty, eyes dark and sunken, and he's still shaking. Again, the urge to grow hits Dean, driven by his natural instinct to Take Care of Sammy. But he can't. Not this time. Instead, he bites his tongue and keeps small as the demon moves in with a face full of pretend concern.

"Sam? Are you all right?" Ruby reaches up a hand to cup Sam's face, but he leans away from it.

"I'm fine," he snaps back.

"Yeah, because the walking corpse look is just so you."

"Says the demon wearing a meatsuit that's been dead for months."

Ruby bats her eyelashes and deadpans, "Gosh, Sammy, you make a girl feel so pretty." Sam throws her a look and walks past her, and she turns to follow. "C'mon, spill. You're only this cranky when you're not getting your way. What's the sitch?" Sam combs a hand through his hair instead of replying, so Ruby drops the sass and steps closer. "Hey. You know you can talk to me." She places a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Sam laughs as he shrugs off her gesture of concern. "So NOW you care. After that crap you pulled this afternoon—"

"You're mad at me?" she throws back with her own laugh. "YOU'RE the one who went all creepy stalker boy and sent, like, 5 million messages! How annoying was that?"

"You ignored me!" Sam huffs as he turns and towers over her. "I don't like being ignored. I get enough of that from Dean and Bobby."

That hits Dean between the eyes, and he looks up at his fuming brother as Sam moves into a pace. _Since when have we ignored you, Sammy? _

"It wasn't intentional," Ruby answers, and both Sam and Dean puff out a scoff. Ruby folds her arms and stands her ground. "Believe it or not, I was busy helping YOU."

"How is not answering my calls helping me?"

"When I'm busy trying to ditch the demons that are after you!"

Sam rolls his eyes and replies in a tired tone, "Demons are always after me."

"Not like these, Sam. They are strong, organized, and gunning for you. They don't care about Lilith or the seals or the Apocalypse: all they want is revenge against you and Dean. If I hadn't thrown a red herring at them, your heads would be hanging on the wall of their trophy room by now. So forgive me for shutting my phone off so I could focus on saving your lives. AGAIN." Hands on her hips, she glares at Sam. "Now how about you stow the ego and listen up? We've got a lot of planning to do if we want to keep this demon posse off our trail."

Sam stops directly in front of his jacket, facing Dean instead of Ruby, and makes what Dean recognizes instantly as Sam's Oh Yeah? Face. A moment later, he turns and throws it at Ruby. "You're lying."

"Oh really," she asks flatly.

"Yeah, really. There has been no demon activity today. Zero." He makes a '0' with his thumb and fingers as he says it. "If demons were really that close to capturing me or Dean, every warning ward at Bobby's would've gone off."

"I told you, Sam, these demons are different—"

"I heard what you told me, and now I'm telling you that you're lying!"

Dean swells with pride. _That's it, Sammy. Tell that bitch how it is! _He grins as Sam moves in close to Ruby, getting right in her face. "Now why don't you drop the attitude and tell me what you were really up to?"

She meets his eye and glares right back at him. "Why don't you tell me what's really behind this hissy fit?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Don't pretend you're fine when you're not."

Stalemate. Sam and Ruby stand and stare for several tense moments. _Please don't have angry sex, please don't have angry sex, _Dean prays, crossing every finger and toe that he won't have to bear witness to the two of them knocking boots. Sam is the one to finally break away, though not because he wants to: his knees suddenly buckle, and Ruby makes quick use of her demon strength to grab his torso and steer him onto the bed.

"Easy, I've got you." She rearranges the pillows behind him so they're vertical against the headboard, and as Sam reclines, Ruby lifts his legs onto the mattress. Then she feels his forehead and cringes. "Why didn't you tell me you were this bad?"

"M'fine," Sam insists, weak arms trying to wave her off, but she sits down next to him anyway.

"You want it," Ruby states. Sam blinks and looks up at her, Puppy Eyes out in full, and Ruby gives a kind smile. "Why didn't you say so? Instead of that pointless argument, I could've been helping you feel better." She gives his hand a squeeze and gets up. "Just let me get my knife."

_A knife? Wow…didn't know you were into the kinky stuff, Sammy… _Dean watches Ruby reach into her bag and retrieve a stiletto-style knife, and she brings it back with her and sits down next to Sam once more. The sickly man mumbles something, and Ruby asks him to repeat what he said.

"I don't want…to want it," Sam rasps, sounding nervous. Dean doesn't know what to make of that, but Ruby seems nonplussed. Reaching over, she works her free hand through his hair and massages his head.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, y'know."

"Not ashamed." His eyes go to her knife, and he licks his lips. "Scared. It's all I can think about. I can't…ignore it. I try and tell myself I don't need it, but…"

"But you do need it," Ruby finishes. Sam peers up at her and gives the tiniest of nods. It makes Dean gulp: this isn't about sex. In his heart, he knows it's something much worse.

Ruby puts her hands on either side of Sam's face and smiles down at him. "You're not losing your mind, Sam, I promise. And you're not losing control, either." She's stroking his hair again, like a mother with her child. "You're hungry for it because you're getting stronger. Soon you'll be strong enough to take down Lilith once and for all."

That seems to calm Sam somewhat, and he looks up at Ruby with complete trust. It disturbs Dean to no end. "What the hell's going on?" he whispers. In his mind, Castiel's warning about Sam getting stronger plays in synch with Ruby's just-uttered praise about the same thing. _This is it, _Dean realizes. _The MacGuffin for all of these secret meet-ups. _His eyes go back to his brother. Sam still looks calm—relieved, almost, like the worst part of some terrible ordeal is over. For Dean, however, it's only just begun. He watches Ruby lift the knife over Sam's head, smiling down at him like everything is fucking sunshine and rainbows and she's not about to do something sick and wrong!

"Midnight snack coming right up," Ruby announces. The knife plunges down—

_**BAM!**_ The door is kicked open, and three burly men file in, eyes black and smiles wide. Ruby chants a quick spell on her knife and throws it at the leader, but he holds his hand out in a stop gesture and slows the blade down. It only manages to nick the side of his throat before it drops to the floor. The leader smiles again.

"That the best you can do, traitor?"

Ruby starts to get up, but the leader backhands her with his telekinesis, and she hits the bed's headboard so hard that it breaks in half. The top falls to the carpeting, followed by Ruby. Sam attempts to sit up but the leader pins him to the mattress with his power. "Aw, leaving so soon, Sammy? But we just got here!" He snaps his fingers, and the other two demons move to either side of the bed and hold down Sam's arms and legs as a further precaution. "And considering how long it took us to find you," the leader goes on, sitting down next to Sam, "I'd say we've earned a few minutes of your precious time."

"Eat me," Sam snarls, and the demon laughs.

"We're planning on it."

The leader starts the now obligatory speech about how humans are weak and demons are strong, and Dean rolls his eyes. _Why does every demon talk us to death? Even the Legion of Doom doesn't monologue like this! _Shaking his head to dismiss the stupidity, he then takes a look around the room, weighing his options. _Okay, Ruby. _Dean cranes his neck to see over the broad back of the demon to Sam's left, but is only able to make out Ruby's closed eyes. _Well she's out for the count. Thanks for nothing, bitch. So…Bobby. _Dean ducks back into the pocket and tries to pry Sam's cell phone open, but it won't budge. _Son of a bitch! _He gives it one last go, but he's just too small. _Doesn't matter anyway, _he decides. _Bobby's back at his place, not here. _He sighs as he comes to his only option. _Guess it's up to me. So much for spy time…_

Dean shuts his eyes and concentrates on growing. Nothing happens. _Oh HELL no, not now. You are NOT stalled. _His left hand tucks into a fist as his right pretends he's turning the key in the Impala's ignition—an image Owen had suggested to help Dean visualize his ability. It worked before, but not so much now. _Come on, come on! _He grits his teeth and focuses every part of his will on his unreliable superpower. _A minute ago you wanted to grow more than anything! What's the problem? _Dean hears the demon smack Sam, and it makes his blood boil, but STILL, he won't grow. _Sam NEEDS me, dammit! _Dean turns and turns that imaginary key, but his engine won't turn. He drops back against the fabric, out of breath and momentarily defeated. The demon laughs, and Dean knows it isn't directed at him, but it gets to him all the same. _Useless. Fucking pathetic, Dean. _

He hears another smack, and he gives up on growing for the moment and climbs up the pocket so he can see what the hell is going on out there. Sam is staring up at the demon, sporting new, deep bruises on both sides of his face. He's shaking so badly that to Dean, it looks like the bed's Magic Fingers are at work. He looks sick…defeated. A boxer just about to be KO'd at the end of a grueling match. _Sammy, _Dean thinks helplessly, ordering himself to grow, but his body will not comply. He keeps trying anyway.

Now the demon leader stands up and chuckles. "Are you sure we got the right Sam Winchester?" he asks his comrades. "He's supposed to be unstoppable! The scourge of demons everywhere! But this guy can't even get off the bed."

"Maybe the angels are right for once," the demon to Sam's right sneers. "Maybe Dean really is the one we should be worried about, not Sammy boy here."

"Leave…my brother…alone," Sam growls, and that just makes all three demons laugh. The leader leans in close to Sam, their noses nearly touching.

"Or what?" he challenges. "Big Bad Sammy gonna spit in my face?"

The demon keeps talking, but Sam no longer registers what he's saying: his attention is fixated on the cut on the demon's neck. One drop of blood has grown plump from gravity, and it's sitting there, just inches from Sam's lips.

"To be honest, we do want revenge on your brother even more than you," the demon says, but he sounds very far away. Sam's heartbeat is in the foreground, fueled by The Want.

_Demon blood_

_Right there_

_Take it_

The crimson drop wavers from its tether to the wound, teasing Sam but refusing to fall. It's hypnotic. SO close. SO tempting. Sam's heart pounds as he licks his lips.

_Demon blood_

_Right THERE_

_Take it!_

"Course, I do suppose we owe Dean some thanks for breaking that first seal…getting the ball rolling on our world conquest. Funny—we always thought it would be your daddy to fulfill the prophecy, not little Deano."

That distracts Sam for a moment, and he glares into the demon's black eyes. He smiles down in turn. "Ah, Big Bro didn't tell you about that! Wonder why?" The leader looks over at the other two demons as they all snicker, and the drop of blood finally falls, smearing red across Sam's cheek. His heart and his Want become one.

Lub-dub.

_Demon blood!_

"Wonder what else he didn't tell you?"

Lub-dub.

_RIGHT THERE_

"For that matter, wonder what that traitor you call a good lay has kept from you."

Lub-dub

_TAKE IT!_

"Bet she never told you she was with us the night your brother broke the first seal."

LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB

_TAKE BLOOD, TAKE BLOOD, TAKE BLOOD, TAKE BLOOD_

"She bought the first round right after we heard the good news."

Sam's head snaps up, and he bites into the side of the leader's neck, sucking blood straight from the wound.

For a few moments, the only sounds are Sam's pounding heart and the slurp of his lips and tongue. The two other demons are so shocked that they don't react, just stare in disbelief. Dean, still in Sam's pocket, is exactly the same.

_No, _is his only thought. _No. Just…no._

Dean's gaze darts between the demon, who is trying and failing to push his attacker off, and Sam, as ravenous as he is in control. "Stop!" Dean yells at both the demon and his brother, but no one hears him, and nothing changes. The color returns to Sam's face as he keeps drinking, and soon he's no longer shaking, either. He pulls away at last, suction-cup lips leaving skin with a sick _pop! _Then Sam smirks at the leader and throws his power out at all three demons, sending them flying into the walls. A moment later, their skulls light up from the inside as black smoke flows out of their mouths and swiftly turns to ash. One by one, the bodies crumble to the floor, dousing the few embers of hellfire still burning in the demonic remnants. Sam doesn't give any of them a second glance, just breathes out with a look of dark satisfaction on his face.

It is, hands down, the scariest thing Dean has ever seen.

Then Sam licks the blood off his still-bloodied lips, and Dean nearly throws up in the jacket pocket; only the thought of avoiding his own puke on the long drive home keep his contents from shifting. Tiny, trembling hands struggle to hold on to the fabric folds and keep him upright, as Dean forces his eyes to remain open and watching.

_No more, _every part of his psyche begs, _please! It's too much!_

But Dean is sure there's more to it. There HAS to be. _It's gotta be something Ruby did, _he convinces himself, seizing that last shred of hope._ Sammy wouldn't just start drinking demon blood! She had to trick him into it. Yeah, _Dean decides,_ it's her fault. I know it._ And so he stays put, convinced that his hunch will prove correct.

Sam is now helping Ruby off the floor. She's groaning, and Sam comforts her. "It's all right. I took care of them."

Ruby looks up at Sam's face and beams like a proud parent. "I knew you would. You always do."

Sam nods and smiles down at her. Then he wraps his hand around her throat and lifts her up off the floor. "Sam?" she chokes out. "What are you—?"

"What did he mean?" Sam demands, voice low. "He said you were with them the night Dean broke the first seal."

"He…lied! Sam—!"

"He also said you bought everyone drinks to celebrate." Sam sends a bolt of his power into her, enough to hurt her but not kill her, and she rasps out a scream. "Were you there or not? Answer me!" Ruby manages an awkward nod into his clenched fist, and Sam shocks her again with more of his power. "So you knew," he snarls. "You knew that Dean broke in Hell, about the seals, everything! And you KEPT it from me!"

"Had…to!"

"Bullshit," both Sam and Dean declare.

"Let me…splain!"

"Why, so you can tell me more lies to cover up the other lies?"

She shakes her head no. "Never lied to you!"

"Bullshit!" Dean says again, but Sam lets go of her. Ruby drops to the floor and coughs hard, while Sam, still sporting the stain of blood around his mouth, walks away from her. He steps over the corpses like they're nothing more than discarded clothes, and he stops at the window and pulls the drapes apart just enough so he can look outside.

"Sam…" Ruby begins, but he holds his hand up.

"I don't want to hear your excuses. Just tell me the truth. Why were you with those demons that night?"

"I was undercover."

"Oh really."

"Yeah, Sam, really," she snaps, echoing a part of their earlier conversation. "Remember when I first met up with you again after Dean died? I wasn't alone." She brushes herself off as she stands up. "But I still saved your ass when the others attacked. Helped you get out of there, too. Then you ditched me till I could find a meatsuit that wasn't still alive."

"I know, I remember," Sam says, sounding tired. "Get to the point."

"That IS the point, Sam. Lilith banished me the night Dean's deal was up. She knew what I was up to, and she wasn't exactly happy about it. So I had to go deep undercover just to stay alive. Convince other demons that I'd been playing you two the whole year. It was the only way I could get back to you so I could protect you."

"I didn't need your protection."

She laughs at that. "Sure, Sam. Good one. That first week alone, when you were so drunk you couldn't even remember your own name? You nearly got killed four times. If I hadn't been there—"

"I never asked you to save me," he snarls, glaring at her over his shoulder.

"You never thanked me, either."

Sam whirls on her. "Finish your explanations before I send you back to Hell just to shut you up."

Normally, Dean would cheer at Sam saying something like that. But right now, he's too upset. Too pissed off. Too freaked, too disgusted, too worried, and way too damn small to be able to safely hold it all in. His body grows an inch, but Dean puts a stop to it. _Too little and WAY too late, _he yells at himself, almost as upset/freaked/disgusted/et cetera with his own failure as what he's learned tonight. Then Ruby heaves a big sigh, and Dean's attention is drawn back to the heated conversation.

"Yes, I was there with those demons the night Dean broke the first seal." She looks at Sam, who gives her a nod to go on. "And yes, I bought the first round of drinks. I was undercover and had to play my part to the fullest, so yeah, I cheered on Team Demon for their first win of the Series. Doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

"Right, because you're Dean's number one fan," Sam scoffs. To his surprise, Ruby's face clouds, and she looks away.

"I wasn't thinking about Dean that night." She peers up at him again. "My mind was on you, Sam. What this would do to you if you ever found out." Sam starts to roll his eyes, but Ruby beats him to it. "You want to know why I never told you? It's this," she gestures to him, "YOU, just like you are right now: furious." She steps around the bed, heading toward him. "Frustrated. Wondering why it had to happen." She stops in front of him and adds softly, "Why you couldn't do a thing to stop it."

Sam looks away, but Ruby grasps his chin and pulls his gaze back to hers. "I didn't tell you," she goes on, "because you had enough to deal with. Not just your power training and tracking down Lilith, but everything with Dean." She puts a hand on his arm and soothes it up and down. "I just thought that between fighting demons and saving the world and helping your brother deal with his growing pains, you deserved a break. That's why I didn't tell you about that night."

Sam nods but says nothing, and he moves past her and sits down on the bed. "It's the truth, Sam," Ruby insists, standing in front of him with her arms folded across her chest. Sam gives another small nod as he looks up at her.

"I believe you," he utters.

She smiles and sits down next to him. "And now that the dirty laundry's airing out, let's get back to business." The stiletto knife materializes in her hand. "Here," she offers, dragging the blade across her forearm in one smooth movement. "A little treat for saving me tonight." Sam grins and lunges at her, wrapping his lips around the laceration as he slurps away at her demon blood like some giant, starving mosquito. She pets Sam's hair and giggles as she tells him it tickles.

Dean ducks back down into the pocket, end of his rope most definitely reached. The shock of what he's witnessed—of what Sammy, his brother, has become!—consumes him, and he curls up into a ball, shuts his eyes, and covers his ears. But he can still hear the damn suckling, and the image of Sam's bloodstained face, outlining his smile like some demonic take on the Joker, is branded into his brain. He wants to cry. Wants to scream his throat hoarse. NEEDS to hit something, strangle someone, anything! _But it won't help, _he tells those urges. _Won't fix a thing. You're too small to do any damage anyway, and Sam…Sam will still be a monster._

That word, that _label_, one that Dean never in his darkest dreams thought he'd ever associate with his brother, makes him feel sick, and he scrunches his eyes shut as he pushes the thought out of his brain. But then his father speaks up from memory, whispered words transforming into the heaviest weights on Dean's shoulders. One was labeled "Kill Him," the other, "Save Him." Dean thought he had shrugged off the former for good, but now he slumps as the weight resumes its former placement.

_You have to save him, Dean, _Dad repeats, and even now, all these years later, Dean's left ear burns from the warmth of the breath as much as the chill of the words. _And if you can't save him, you'll have to kill him. _

Dean shakes his head no as more tears escape. _I'm not killing him. I'll die first!_

_You already did, _Dean's inner voice pops up. _You know, the deal, going to Hell…all that suffering, and all of it for Sam. And look how well that turned out: you're back, and Sam leaves you whenever he can. And now he's a m—_

_NO, don't say it, _Dean thinks back in anger. _Don't think it! He ISN'T! _ But his ears pick up a lapping sound in the background. He tries not to picture Sam's tongue on Ruby's arm, but he knows that's exactly what it is. _And I thought I was grossed out when he told me about them having sex…_ The lapping eases off, followed by smacking lips and a whispered "thanks."

"Anytime, Sam," Ruby whispers back. "Anytime."

There's a sliding noise, followed by footfalls. A shadow falls over Dean, and he feels the jacket lift up. Sam slips his arms through the sleeves and tells Ruby he's got to get going.

"So that's it, huh?" she teases. "Dine and dash?"

"Well, do you have any new leads on Lilith?" Sam asks with a smile.

"Just some breadcrumbs. Nothing solid. But Sam," she gets up from the bed and stands between him and the door, "I know you want to find her and end this, but let's face it: she could be anywhere. Breadcrumbs might be the best we can get for a while."

"Or they might throw us off her trail again. No, Ruby, I meant what I said on the phone this morning: we go with solid leads or we wait. I don't want to waste any more time on another Shake n' Bake with some low-level demon. I want Lilith. Until then, I'm not leaving Dean's side."

That surprises Dean, and he looks up at Sam's face. The bloodstain is gone now, and with the color back in his cheeks, he appears every bit his normal, stubborn little brother.

"It's pretty sad, don't you think?" Ruby snipes. "Dean's such a big boy these days but he's still having trouble with the potty training."

"Careful. That's my brother you're talking about," Sam seethes, power flashing behind his eyes, "and I am not having this argument with you again." Ruby throws her hands up in a 'whatever' and walks past Sam, but he turns with her and continues. "Dean has taken care of me my whole life. He isn't just my brother, Ruby, he's been everything! Parent, teacher, doctor, cook, protector…best friend." Sam smiles fondly for a moment before his eyes grow serious again. "Dean's always been there for me, every time, ANY time."

"So where is he now?" Ruby challenges. "I mean, you've been right there by his side through all of his giant changes, but any time you use your talents, he starts throwing out the word "no" like it's going out of style. Since when is Dean the boss of you?"

Sam's dark glare is back. "Watch it, Ruby."

"He's such a fucking hypocrite," Ruby blasts, moving toward Sam instead of backing down. "Why is it okay for Dean to have powers but not you?"

"Because I never asked for mine, bitch!" Dean snaps, but he's still too small to hear. Luckily, Sam says just about the same thing:

"Dean never wanted them, and if he could, he'd get rid of them."

"Well you never wanted yours either," Ruby points out. "But at least you're doing something with them instead of lying around feeling sorry for yourself all day."

Sam lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Are you done?"

"I had more, but I guess I've made my point." She leans her back against the desk, looking pleased. But when Sam reaches around her and grabs the car keys from the empty ashtray, her smile flattens. "You're still going back to him? Sam—"

"I heard you the first hundred times," Sam gripes, holding his hands up in a calming gesture so she doesn't start in again. "Look, it's unfair to pit Dean's situation against mine. He got his by accident, and I got mine as a part of Azazel's takeover. And fine, so Dean doesn't have control over his size changing yet. He also doesn't have a teacher, unlike me." He offers Ruby a little smile, but gets a petulant pout in return. "But Dean will get control," Sam states, nodding his conviction. "I know it. He just needs a little more practice, and a lot more support. And I'm going to be right there with him for all of it."

Dean is touched. _See? He's still Sammy, _he tells all those lingering doubts in his head and heart. _He wants to stick around from now on. I can still help him. SAVE him._ He smiles up at his big little brother, hope restored.

"Besides," Sam adds, "Dean NEEDS me. It's not like he can help himself right now."

Dean's smile drops, dragging his hopes down with it.

"The giant stuff is one thing, but all the rest…" Sam shakes his head. "He isn't getting any better. The nightmares, the flashbacks…they're worse than ever. And I feel for him, y'know? I do. I can't…_imagine_ what he went through, or what he's still going through! But it's made him weak. He isn't who he used to be…not even close." Sam's face hardens, and he frowns. "It's the freaking end of the world here. I need somebody to stand by my side and fight, not somebody who can barely stand up."

"Wow, Sammy, don't sugarcoat it," Dean grumbles, feeling even smaller than his current two-inch size.

"He's broken," Sam says, his own voice breaking on the word. "And he's in so much pain with his size stuff, so that isn't doing him any favors. Every day…it's like a little more of my brother fades away. And I'm scared, Ruby," he admits quietly. "I don't want to lose him again." Sam looks at the door, determined. "That's why I have to be strong for both of us. Dean can get the rest he needs while I keep fighting."

Ruby ruminates on it a moment before she slides away from the desk and peers up at Sam. "Dean's lucky to have you," she tells him. Sam nods a thanks you, and she adds, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually feel sorry for Dean. It has to be hard not being able to hunt like he used to."

Dean groans. _Great, now the demon bitch jumped aboard the Weakling Dean train…_

"Try being out there with him and watching him fail sometime," Sam replies. "But I'll live with it. I'm staying with him no matter what."

_Out of pity, not because you want to. Wow, thanks, Sam._

Dean decides he's heard more than enough. He burrows underneath the tissue ball and hums some Metallica to try and soothe his bruised ego. It doesn't really work, but it beats listening to Sam list any more of his big brother's shortcomings, or Ruby praising Sam for sticking by poor, pathetic Dean. Right on cue, his inner critic pipes up:

_So what have we learned tonight, Deano? Little brother takes his Bloody Mary's extra bloody, and you're nothing but a burden to him. Aren't you glad you tagged along and finally got some truth?_

Dean curls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them tight—a feeble attempt at comfort, one that his negative side doesn't miss.

_That's it, make yourself into an even smaller bug. It suits you! Cos that's all you are anymore to Sam, right? A bug. A tiny pest he can't get rid of, no matter how much he ignores you or pushes you away._

Dean doesn't have it in him to fight this dark line of thought. It's all true, after all.

By now, Sam has made it into the Impala; Dean both hears and feels her start up. But just as Sam puts her into reverse, Ruby yells at him to hold up. Dean listens in as Sam rolls down the window.

"Here," Ruby says. "Hair of the dog and all..."

The jacket shifts up as Sam's right arm reaches over, and soon something new drops into the pocket. Dean peeks out from his hiding place as a simple flask tips over, and its cap comes to rest atop the tissue ball. There's a telltale red thumbprint on the side.

"And one for the road from Ruby's personal stash," Dean mutters. "That's just awesome."He laughs into his arms so he doesn't cry. What a night. What a fucking awful night.

The Impala turns and heads north. _Back to Bobby's, _Dean thinks with a heavy heart. _Back to all the lies. Back to being a liability. Fuck. _He wipes his teary eyes across his sleeve, but his vision blurs again almost as soon as it's cleared. Then he pictures everything that's going to happen: Castiel's face when Dean tells him just how Sam has been getting stronger (blue eyes glowing with anger, mouth twisted just slightly with worry). Bobby's reaction to what Ruby knew and what she's been up to with Sam (a shouted "BALLS" followed by slapping his hat to his knee). _And Sammy… _Dean cracks a smile despite how wretched he feels. _I actually have no idea how you'll react when I confront you about all this. You gonna lie some more to cover your ass? Maybe try and convince me that what you're doing is perfectly fine? Or will you just roll your fist back and punch me? _

Dean shakes his head at his own question. _Guess it doesn't matter. It won't be pretty, no matter what I say or what you do. But I can't look the other way anymore, little brother. You're so far off the map that you don't even realize how close you are to walking right off a cliff. I have to get you back on track, Sam. Even if I'm just a burden to you now, I have to TRY._

He settles back, dreading the upcoming fight, and longing for some liquid courage to get him through it. _Wonder what a bug's gotta do to get a drop of whiskey around here…_

* * *

Sam rolls through the gate to Singer Salvage just after one in the morning. He would have been back sooner, but he had to stop at the gas station and put in a few bucks' worth so Dean wouldn't notice the spent fuel. Now as Sam turns off the headlights and creeps up to Bobby's house, he checks the house for any lit lamps. They're all off. Tensed shoulders relax at once, as a steady hand shuts the Impala off. He got away with it. Again.

Sam holds his head high as he trots up the porch steps and lets himself in. The power still pulsing through his veins is extraordinary. He'd barely used up a fraction of it when he killed those three demons, and then when Ruby gave him that extra treat, Sam went from strong to unstoppable. He's Herakles after defeating the Nemean Lion, Ghengis Kahn at the height of the Mongol conquest—hell, he's Ferris Bueller on his day off! Gliding though the front room, knowing his brother is still asleep somewhere in that shadow covering the couch, Sam starts emptying his pockets on the kitchen table. Nothing can bring him down from this amazing high. Nothing!

"Ow!"

Nothing except a tiny yell of pain that sounds a lot like Dean. Sam quickly gives up trying to make anything out in the black of night and feels his way to the kitchen's light switch. As his eyes readjust to the blinding light, he catches movement on the table, so Sam walks back and looks down. There, next to Sam's phone and wriggling between two spots in Sam's vision is Dean, only a couple inches high. He's on his side, holding an arm to his chest.

"Dean?" Sam whispers, reaching for him out of instinct, but Dean pushes the big, intruding finger out of the way.

"M'fine," he grunts, sitting up. "Just a rough landing's all."

_A rough landing from where? _Sam wonders. _Wasn't he on the couch? _He looks down again just as Dean gives him the 'one minute' gesture and shuts his eyes. His brother grows two, maybe three inches, but no more. Dean peeks one eye open, swears under his breath, and tries again, but gets no bigger. Both eyes open again, and he stands up.

"Guess that's as good as it gets right now," Dean summarizes, not sounding pleased. He dusts off his clothes and then looks up at Sam's face, like he's expecting Sam to say something. Sam in turn hears every one of his alarm bells go off, and his feeling of unstoppable power turns into stifling paranoia.

"What're you doing up?" Sam's voice is reedy as he asks the question, so he gulps down the thick wad of nerves stuck in his throat and regroups. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Dean smiles, but the light doesn't reach his eyes. "You know, before tonight, I would've been touched that you asked. Would've told you I'm fine, of course—that's just how I roll. But inside…in here," he taps over his heart once, "it would've meant something."

Sam gives a wobbly smile back, but asks, "What's so different about tonight?"

"Nothing," Dean dismisses, though his tone is very sharp. "Not from your point of view, anyway. Everything's changed for me, but for you…it's just another night." He peers up at him. "Right, Sammy?"

Sam frowns at that. "What are you talking about?"

Two tiny green eyes glare up at Sam for a moment before Dean turns to the side and looks out at the gigantic kitchen. "I know you snuck out again tonight." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam bite his lip and look down. "Dude, relax," Dean says. "It's not like it's a secret anymore. I'm not even pissed off about it."

Sam sighs and says, soft and a little embarrassed, "Dean…"

"What I DON'T get," Dean interrupts, "is why you come back."

The big forehead above him wrinkles with confusion. "You really don't know?" Sam asks. Dean just blinks back, so Sam smiles kindly and answers, "Dean…it's you. I come back for you!"

A self-depricating smirk opens up on Dean's little face. "But only cos you feel like you have to, not because you want to." Sam looks shocked and opens his mouth to argue. "Don't bother," Dean snaps. "I know what you really think of me, and it ain't all that much."

"What? Dean—"

"And I'm not surprised, y'know? I don't even really blame you. But seriously, Sam, why DO this to yourself? Do you like being unhappy? Cos you could just go off and do your thing, like I know you want to! But you don't. For whatever, twisted reason, you stick around, even though I know how much you can't STAND—!" Dean cuts himself off, looking furious, and wipes his hand over the morning scruff on his jaw.

Sam is feeling a whole new kind of worry now: a dread, slowly but surely creeping up his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. "Where is this coming from?" His brother gives no answer, so Sam leans down a bit closer. "Why do you think I don't want to be around you?"

"Because you'd rather be with Ruby," Dean states.

Sam goes white, but he plasters on a smile. "You honestly think I'd rather kill demons 24/7 than spend time with you?"

"No. I think you'd rather amp up on her demon blood." Dean nods at Sam's stare. "Yeah, Sam, I know. Do me a favor and don't try to deny it."

Sam swallows hard and nods back. "…A-all right," he says at length. "But let me explain."

"Explain what, Sammy? Why you've kept this from me? When exactly Ruby went from being your demon BFF to your drug pusher? Ooh, I know, how about why you tore into that demon's neck last night like a wild dog?"

Sam's eyes narrow. "How do you know about that?"

"Because I was THERE. I saw everything." Sam's face flushes with fury, so Dean quickly explains. "Owen pretended to be me asleep on the couch so I could sneak away in your jacket pocket."

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. "You SPIED on me?"

"Well since you were being SO OPEN and HONest with me about what you were up to all these months—"

"You spied on me," Sam repeats with a bitter laugh. "Instead of asking me about it, you decided spying on me was the best way to go."

"And instead of telling me about it, you decided to lie to me. AGAIN." Dean gives his brother a discerning look. "Do you even know how to tell the truth anymore?"

Sam chuckles. Dean doesn't. "How long, Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"How long has she been poisoning you?"

"It isn't poison, Dean," Sam mutters. "And I've been taking it…for a while."

Dean crosses his arms. "A while?"

"Since she started training me on how to use my powers. I quit for a few months, if you care."

"Of course I fucking care," Dean growls. "When was that?"

"After the Rugaru. I stopped using my powers, stopped drinking demon blood…even stopped taking Ruby's calls."

Dean nods. "All right, so what changed?"

"More seals were breaking," Sam shrugs, sounding almost bored. Then he looks down at Dean and adds, "And you weren't getting any better." He pauses, waiting for Dean to say something, but he just looks at him to go on. "Ruby found me one night…told me that if I could stop Lilith, I'd stop all the seals from falling. I started training again soon after that."

"And then she started pushing her special kool-aid on you again."

"She didn't push me, Dean," Sam barks. "I took it."

"But only because she said you had to," Dean leads, but Sam looks plainly at him, and Dean knows what Sam's going to say. His heart is already broken before the first word is out:

"No, Dean. I TOOK it. She barely had her arm cut before I was on her, drinking my fill."

"Don't sound so proud about it," Dean tries to joke, but his voice gives away his sadness.

"I'm not," Sam answers quietly, and to Dean's astonishment, he sounds and appears very sad. "But I did what I had to," Sam goes on. "Demons were still everywhere, people were still dying. I had to make the tough choice, just like you've done countless times, Dean." He glances down at his big brother. "I know you hate it when I use my powers, but it doesn't matter. Not when you look at all the people I've saved."

"But you don't save them anymore, Sammy," Dean points out. Sam glares as Dean's little legs move into a pace. "I remember that night I found out about what you could do. You told me you were using your powers to save people—that Ruby's knife killed the person who was possessed, but that your way usually saved them. Oh yeah, and that you personally saved more people in a few months than everyone else we saved together," Dean glares back at Sam a moment, "that was a nice little dig, thanks." He stops pacing and looks up. "But last night, after you killed those demons, you didn't check on those people once. Hell, you didn't even ask Ruby to clean up the mess after you left. They weren't even corpses to you, they were…nothing!"

"I already knew they were dead," Sam utters.

"Oh yeah? How?" Dean steps up close to Sam. "Because they always die now? Is that the new normal? Sure, you kill the demon, but the person they were possessing is just, what…just a meatsuit? Just a mess of veins for you to sink your teeth into whenever you needed to quench your thirst?"

"Shut up, Dean! It isn't like that."

"Could've fooled me."

"Last night…was different," Sam insists, glaring again. "If those demons hadn't shown up, I would've just fed off Ruby, like normal."

"FED off Ruby," Dean repeats. "Interesting choice of words there, Sammy. And I'll bet Ruby just LOVES feeding you, too."

Sam pinches the area between his eyes. "Look…it isn't…I never wanted…" He sighs and starts over. "Ruby told me I had to start drinking demon blood if I wanted to get used to my powers. She said that without it, I'd never get stronger, and I'd never be able to kill Lilith."

"And you believed her."

"Yeah, Dean, I did!"

"Without question, cos everything she says is absolutely true." Dean gives Sam a very long look, and Sam doesn't answer him. "Did she bother telling you that demon blood is addictive?"

"I'm not addicted to it," Sam snaps.

"Bull. SHIT. I saw how messed up you were last night. You couldn't even stand up, you were jonesing so bad! And then you helped yourself to that guy's neck and whammo, you're all better, just like that! It's a miracle! No, wait, it isn't, it's just YOU getting your damn FIX!"

Sam shuts his eyes, looking all of eight years old for a moment, and Dean takes a deep breath to calm down. He takes a step back, not because he's crowding his brother—Dean knows he's too small for that—but as a simple gesture to demonstrate that he's backing down. "Well, it's done," he begins again. "I'm going to help you through this, Sammy. It isn't gonna be easy, but I know you can do it. Just promise me you will never, EVER take another hit of demon blood again."

Sam tucks his chin down and replies in a watery whisper, "I can't make that promise, Dean."

"All right, sure, you're gonna be tempted," Dean allows. "It's an addiction, right? But you can promise me that you'll do your best to quit the stuff." Dean's heart plummets at the silence he gets for an answer. "Sammy?"

Hazel eyes look down at the little man, brimming with sorrow. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I can't stop."

"Yes you CAN!"

"No," Sam gives a sad smile, "I can't because I don't WANT to." Dean finds himself unable to reply, so Sam keeps talking. "We're so close to finding Lilith. I'm so close to being strong enough to kill her. KILL Lilith, Dean! I can end the Apocalypse before it's even begun! But to do that, I have to be at my very best. And to do THAT, I need demon blood. I need Ruby."

Dean presses his lips together in a feeble attempt to keep his temper in check.

"I don't expect you to understand," Sam says.

"Well that's good, because I don't fucking understand ANY of this!" Dean runs both his hands through his hair, beyond frustrated. Sam in turn seems more interested in a loose thread on the end of his sleeve than anything his brother is saying, and Dean isn't exactly encouraged by that. "I'm just trying to understand WHY, that's all. Why you take a demon's word over mine. Why you spend more time with her than with your own brother. Why…" He licks his lips to ease the words out. "Why you excuse her every mistake but you won't let any of mine go."

Sam's eyebrows go up as his gaze goes down to his brother. "Dean…it isn't like that."

"It's exactly like that," Dean sighs. "You just don't want to admit it."

"Well apparently, I don't have to admit anything," Sam retorts, temper rising. "You've got it all figured out. You don't care about my reasons OR my point of view."

"The hell are you talking about, Sam? I just asked you to help me understand why you're doing this shit, and you shut the door on me!"

"Because you won't believe me no matter what I say!" Sam yells back. "So what's the point? You won't listen to me, you don't respect what I'm doing, and I can't even bring up Ruby's name without you rolling your eyes…" Sam glares as Dean does just that, and Sam gestures a 'there you have it.' "Why do you have to see everything in black and white all the time, Dean? We've met good supernatural creatures before. Some have even helped us! So why can't Ruby be good, too?"

"I can't believe you keep defending that bitch," Dean seethes.

"Has she really done anything wrong?" Sam pushes on, completely ignoring Dean's little comment. "Cos last I checked, she fixed the Colt, saved both our asses a number of times, and oh yeah, got ME through my depression after you LEFT! So why are you so sure she's evil? And don't tell me it's just because she's a demon."

Dean laughs and smacks a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, Sam, because she's a DEMON! The end!" He suffers a headshake of dismissal from Sam, but he doesn't back down. "Forty years, Sam. Forty YEARS I was in Hell with those sons of bitches. They tortured me into becoming a monster. I KNOW what they're capable of." Sam nods a 'yeah yeah,' which infuriates Dean to no end. "But YOU," he stomps on Sam's pinky finger as hard as he can, earning a loud yelp for his trouble, "you spend a summer with Ruby and suddenly you're the expert on demons? You're the one who gets to tell me that hey, Ruby's okay, you're okay, sucking down demon blood is completely normal, and everything's fucking great? Well I CAN'T TAKE that CHANCE, Sammy. You're too far down the slippery slope already, and I'll be damned if I let you fall face first into the pit."

Sam doesn't reply right away, but he's got that constipated look on his face—the one that tells Dean he's gonna snap any second. So Dean throws some dirt on the anger still burning inside him and waits for Sam to speak. Sam tugs that loose thread off his shirt sleeve first, and then his eyes slowly move back to Dean's.

"You know, it would be really, REALLY nice," he flicks the thread off his fingers, "if you'd just trust me for once."

"And what about you, Sammy? Why don't you trust me anymore? What about Bobby, or Meesh? We're your FAMILY, and you won't even hear us out!"

"Family is supposed to stand by each other!"

"And we'd be right by your side if you'd stop sneaking out and lying to us all the time! How are we supposed to believe anything you say if over half of what comes out of your mouth is crap?"

Sam sneers at that. "You want some truth, Dean? Fine. Why not." He sits up straight so he can tower over his tiny brother. "I didn't tell you about Ruby or the blood because I knew that this was EXACTLY how you'd react. It isn't bad enough that you constantly judge me and question every move I make, noooo. You have to get on your fucking high horse and tell me, over and over, that you are always right and I'm always wrong."

"Since WHEN?"

"Since ALWAYS, Dean! I'm sick of it! You won't listen to me, and you certainly don't trust me. That's why you snuck out tonight, right? It isn't just because you wanted to find out where I went and what I did—it's because you don't TRUST me enough to handle anything on my own! It's like…" Sam shakes his hands out on either side of him, like he can't get the words out fast enough. "It's like I can't ever get ANYthing right with you anymore."

Dean's face falls, pulling his eyes wide open. "That's not true," he says softly.

"Well it feels like it." Sam pauses for a moment and studies his hands. "You want to know why I more time with Ruby than my own family? It isn't just the blood, or the training." His voice quiets as he says, "It's because Ruby doesn't question me. She believes in me and what I can do. She encourages me instead of judging me. She stands by me, no matter what." He looks down at his big brother's little body. "Is that so wrong?"

Dean meets his eye, looking sad but earnest. "It is when she's playing you like a cheap song."

The puppy dog eyes are replaced with a glower. "She isn't playing me, Dean. She's working alongside me."

"It's a cover, Sam. I know it."

Sam laughs and mutters about his brother being delusional, but Dean keeps pressing. "She's telling you what you want to hear, man! Can't you see that?"

"No, I can't, because it ISN'T TRUE. I'd know if she were lying to me."

"She just lied to you tonight!" Dean yells. "I was there! I saw the whole thing! You CALLED her on it!" Sam doesn't respond, but his face remains dark. "Look, all I'm saying is that if she lied to you about one thing, she's probably lied about other stuff." Now Sam gives him a look like he's asking, 'Can you get to the point sometime this year?', and Dean wilts, so tired of arguing, so SICK of the tension between the two of them. "I just don't want to see you get hurt," he sums up, hoping the simple, heartfelt statement will be enough to get through to Sam. "So you tell me: Is THAT so wrong?"

Sam finally looks at him, but it isn't with understanding—more like Dean really is just a bug that needs squashing.

"Why are you always so sure I'll get hurt?" Sam grabs Dean and holds him tight in his fist. "Seems to me that YOU'RE the one who's always getting hurt these days."

Dean is struggling to get loose from Sam's grip, but he's locked in tight. "...Sammy!" he wheezes. That just makes the big hand squeeze harder.

"For the last fucking time, it's SAM." The death glare Sam throws down at Dean nearly cripples the older Winchester. Sam nods, satisfied. "It's not your job to take care of me anymore," he informs Dean, then adds with a cruel smile, "Not like you're doing a good job anyway. Doesn't matter what size you are: you make all the mistakes, and hey, then I get to clean them up! What fun. Now shut your noise hole," he clamps his big fingers even tighter around Dean's little form, "and try listening for a change, mmkay?"

Sam holds the little face up so it's centered before the hazel-colored loathing being directed at it. "Let me make one fact PAINfully clear," he says as he squeezes again. "I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm strong. I'm fucking powerful. YOU'RE the screw-up, Dean. YOU'RE the one who's weak. You'd rather hide from the demons instead of fighting them. Is that how you're going to win the war? Huh? By HIDING?"

Dean tries to speak, but there's no air in his lungs. Sam laughs at him. "Nope. You don't get to have the last word this time. See, I'm calling the shots now. I'm the one doing all the work, protecting the world and saving your pathetic," another hard squeeze, "overbearing," giant thumb crushing against tiny ribs, "righteous ass every time you fuck up. You don't deserve my help, that's for sure, but what can I do? You're my BROTHER, right?"

Tears are streaming down Dean's pink and pained face, crushed by Sam's words as much as his fist. "My brother who broke the first seal," Sam continues. "I just love how you sit there and judge me for using my powers when it's all YOUR fault that the world is ending! Yeah, fine, so I'm drinking demon blood, but at least I didn't torture souls for ten years. At least I didn't jumpstart the Apocalypse!" He glares pure hatred down at his brother. "And if you think I'm EVER gonna forgive you for what you did, you are DEAD wrong."

Sam stands up, still holding his tiny captive tight. "So do me a favor, Dean: shut up, stay out of my way, and let me work. And if you don't like the way I'm handling things, then maybe you should've just stayed in Hell."

And there it is. The instant the awful words are out, Sam's horror over what he said overpowers his remaining anger. He clamps his mouth shut and his eyes turn to saucers as he looks down at the figure in his hand. Dean's tiny eyes are closed.

"Dean, I didn't—" Sam sees blood dripping out of his fist, and he slowly unwraps his fingers.

He finds Dean's four-inch body almost completely crushed.

"No."

His right arm and leg are hanging from their sockets, busted bones sticking out of bloody flesh like thick pins in a cushion, and his boot is crushed into to a ball, his foot still crammed inside.

"No, God…please!"

His left side is mostly intact, save for his left ribs, which have broken through his torso. His left lung is pierced through by his crushed sternum. His heart is completely visible, struggling to beat from where it's been pushed up against the busted chest cavity. Sam reaches a trembling finger down toward it but pulls it away, scared he'll do more damage. His head is shaking in slow no's as his brain attempts the impossible task of processing what he's done.

"I didn't mean it. Dean…"

A big tear drops right on Dean's small, colorless face, but he doesn't react. "No," Sam says again. He looks up to scream for help, only to find Bobby and Meesh standing just inside the kitchen door, aghast.

"What…wh-what'd I do?" Sam asks them, sounding as broken as Dean's body. He sets him down on the table as carefully as he can. "I didn't…I'd…I'd never!"

Tears roll down his face, and Sam looks back at Meesh and Bobby. "What'd I DO?" he cries. "WHAT'D I DO?"


	8. Repercussions

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for reading, with extra thanks and cookies to those who took the time to leave a review! I truly appreciate the feedback. Plus mega-ultra-über thanks to bevarshi for helping me iron out the wrinkles in Bobby's rant to Sam, thus making it readable AND powerful. ::HUGS:: Now on to the Man Pain!

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Repercussions**

Meesh storms over to Sam and slaps him squarely across the face. "How could you?" is all she can force out as he recovers, and she stares into his eyes, demanding an answer that Sam can't give. With a final look of disgust, she tears away from Sam and slides in next to where Dean lies on the table. Bobby follows suit, only bothering to give Sam a glance as he moves past.

"I didn't mean to hurt him!" Sam says again, but his words sound so hollow. No one pays him or his pitiful excuse any notice, and if Sam could think straight at this point, he wouldn't blame them. All he can do for the moment is watch, wait, and berate himself in his mind.

A flapping of wings sounds Castiel's arrival, and the angel appears next to Sam. "Where is Dean?" he asks just as he spots him. He moves up to the table and looks down at Dean's destroyed body, and his normally reserved face grows dark. "What did this to him?" he demands.

"Ask Crusher over there," Bobby mutters with a nod toward Sam. Castiel shifts his gaze to the younger Winchester.

"You did this." It's an accusation, not a question, and Sam answers with a miserable nod.

"Cas, it was an accident." Fresh tears spill down Sam's face. "Please, you've got to believe me!"

The angel closes the space between them and glares at him. "You told me you'd keep him safe."

"I know."

"You said he'd be safe here, safe with YOU."

"I KNOW!" Sam cries.

"Dean TRUSTED you, defended you over and over…and you turned out to be his greatest threat."

Sam looks down and away, tears flowing free and unchecked, but Castiel stands his ground, blue eyes storming with the wrath of heaven.

"Cas," Bobby calls from behind, "we need you."

The angel glares at Sam a moment longer before turning around and joining Bobby and Meesh at the table. The doctor's fingers are red with blood, as is her ear from leaning in to listen to the tiny heart and lungs. "We're losing him," Meesh informs Castiel, emotions spilling into her voice while she fights to keep her professional composure. "Can you heal him?"

Castiel's eyes fill with regret. "Not entirely. Even with his body so small, the damage that has been inflicted on it is too great. But I can repair the internal organs." He looks at Meesh. "Keep him alive until he can get to a hospital."

"He can't go to a hospital like this!" Bobby snaps.

"Then we'll have to get him to grow," Meesh decides.

Sam starts forward. "No, it'll kill him!" At once, he's thrown back against the wall by Castiel's will. Sam doesn't bother to struggle, and the icy blue stare keeps him quiet.

"We have no choice," Castiel insists, slowly looking back to Meesh. "Please move away. Dean will need room." Bobby and Meesh step back as Cas gently rests his hand over Dean's body. A warm light spreads out from his palm and envelopes his stricken friend, healing the punctured lung. It inflates just as the sternum shifts back to its usual position, easing the crushing pressure on the heart while the cracked left ribs retract back underneath the skewered skin. Castiel feels his power draining, but he pushes on, intent on healing as much of his friend as he possibly can. But just as the gaping chest cavity begins to close back up, Dean's eyes fly open, and his little body seizures.

"He's going into hypovolemic shock," Meesh warns. "Cas, keep him warm, Bobby, put your hands on either side of him. Don't hold him down, just keep him from moving too much so he doesn't hurt his back. We have—"

She's cut off by a wail, as loud as it is heartrending, and a tiny hand grabs her fingertip. "Dean?" Meesh looks down and finds even tinier green eyes looking every which way, scared and confused. "Dean, it's all right, we're gonna fix you right up, aren't we, Cas?"

"I already informed you that I'm unable to—" Castiel receives a kick to the shin, courtesy of the good doctor, who then throws him a look. The angel nods that he understands. "I mean, yes." He offers Dean an awkward smile. "Yes we will…fix you."

"But you have to stay with us, Dean, okay?" Meesh smiles down at him and his eyes finally come to rest on hers. He squeezes her finger as a reply, and she nods. "Okay. Good. Now this next part…it's not gonna be a picnic, but we don't have much of a choice here. We need to get you to a hospital, and the only way to do that is if you grow back to normal first." Dean's eyes blow wide again, and this time Castiel moves in to reassure him.

"I will spare you from as much of the pain as I can," he promises. "But I can't make you grow. Only you can do that."

Dean's eyes shut as his head shakes back and forth, lips drawn tight as he silently begs for another option. "It's the only way, son," Bobby says gently, but Dean only whimpers in reply.

"Dean…" It's Sam this time, and Meesh, Cas, and Bobby all glance at him, having forgotten he was there. Sam for all looks and purposes just seems like their Sam again, face full of drying tears and full concern for his brother. "Please, Dean, you have to try." He approaches the table, hand reaching out on pure comforting instinct.

"Nnnnnnaah!" Dean pushes back the moment Sam comes into view.

"No, Dean, calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you!" Sam swears, but Dean eyes him with mistrust—not a hint of recognition. Sam takes a half step forward, and it makes his brother flinch. "It's me, Dean," he insists with a whisper. "It's Sam!" But the reassurance only serves as a reminder of pain and betrayal in Dean's mind:

_For the last fucking time, it's SAM._

His little body shakes harder. The still-intact left leg kicks out as his only defense as he inches away, cradling his destroyed right arm as he watches the giant threat's every move. The memories lash out again:

_I'm strong. I'm fucking powerful. YOU'RE the one who's weak._

_If you think I'm EVER gonna forgive you for what you did, you are DEAD wrong._

_You should've just stayed in Hell._

Dean cries, wishing he could get up and outrun the voice and the hurt, but he can't. The effort it took just to push an inch away exhausts him, and he collapses against Meesh's hands.

"Dean!" Sam surges forward, making Dean's eyes widen in fear, but Castiel sends him sliding back to the wall and pins him there with his power.

"You have hurt him ENOUGH."

Sam doesn't reply, just keeps his eyes trained on his brother. He's gutted by the sheer _fright_ Dean is directing at him. Though Meesh is soothing him with promises of "he's gone now, he can't hurt you," those tiny green eyes continue to STARE at the monster in the room. _Me, _Sam thinks sadly. _Hellhounds didn't destroy him, I did. God help me, I DID that to him! And now he's afraid of me, his own brother. _Fresh tears fall down Sam's face, and he looks away, unable to bear Dean's aversion to him any longer.

Then a rattling sound hits Sam's ears, forcing his attention back. Dean is shaking so badly that the table is quaking with him. "We are officially out of waiting time," Meesh announces. "He's lost too much blood, and I can't get an IV in him until his veins are big enough for the needle." Leaning over the prone body once more, the doctor looks directly into her patient's pained face. "You have to grow, Dean. Right now." She receives a moan in reply, and Dean's eyelids drop to half mast.

"He's very weak," Castiel reports. "Not just in body, but in spirit."

"Meaning?" Bobby asks, and Castiel looks at him.

"He is losing the will to live."

They all look at each other, Sam included, feeling sad and helpless. But then Bobby pushes up his sleeves and steps up to the table.

"Tough shit, Dean," he growls. "We want to keep you around. Now grow." Dean answers with a weary headshake, so Bobby stomps on the floor. "HEY!" Dean's eyes snap open. "This ain't a practice round, kid! When I tell you to grow, you grow!"

Dean whimpers.

"GROW!"

The four-inch body shoots up to a foot. Dean screams as his broken arm and leg stretch, fractures deepening in pain and severity.

"Again! Grow!"

One foot becomes three, and Dean's child-sized body is wracked with sobs. Castiel puts his hand over the small forehead to ease the pain, but there is so much—and not all of it physical. Bobby yells at Dean to grow again, but he only manages an inch this time before howling in agony.

"N'more, Alistair," Dean begs, "PLEASE—"

"Grow, dammit!" Bobby yells, tears in his eyes, and Dean obeys the order, growing another half a foot.

"STOP it!" Sam yells. "You're making him think he's back in Hell!"

"I'm saving his life!" Bobby growls back. "Now GROW, Dean!"

Again, Dean does as he's told. His cracked left ribs bust through skin and tissue again, while his crushed left foot swells up, turning his boot into a leather bowling ball bag. Meesh moves so that she's standing behind Dean's head and then cups her hands over either side of his face.

"You're almost there, sweetie, I promise. Just a few more times."

"Nuh…can't…"

"You can and you will!" Bobby tells him. "Grow!"

Dean's bones and muscles expand a few more inches before his waning strength gives out completely. One of his cracked ribs breaks, and he shudders with the stab of new, intense pain. "Finish it," he grunts, green eyes glazed and looking at someone who isn't there. "Start a…new game, dammit!" He tries to keep his face defiant, but he can't—the Grand Torturer is doing too good a job this time. Dean receives another order to grow, and his body stretches out further on the rack. He gnashes his teeth and glares pure hatred at the white-eyed demon standing over him. "Alistair, you sumbitch…KILL me already!"

'_Ah ah ah,' _Alistair scolds, waving a claw at him._ 'You know I don't like to be rushed.' _He gives the vice pressing against Dean's chest another crank, and more of his ribs pop and break, pointing out of his skin like deformed, accusing fingers.

Outside of the hallucination, Castiel removes his hand from Dean's forehead. "He is blocking my help," he says before anyone yells. "I must save my remaining energy to get him to the hospital."

Bobby and Meesh nod and cast their eyes down once again to Dean, who is now delirious with pain and encroaching fever. Both of his stand-in parents are crying, Bobby especially, hating himself a little more with every order he gives. But he knows it's the only way, so he summons up his courage for what he hopes will be Dean's final push.

"Grow, Dean."

Dean's head rolls around on the table. "…no…can't…lemme die, wanna DIE!"

"GROW!"

Dean shoots up to just under his full height, and his broken leg flops off the table. They all jolt when they hear another snap.

"Now, Dean! One last time—grow!"

"N-no…"

"I SAID GROW!"

With a final stretch and screech, the body finally regains its normal size. Dean passes out, and Bobby drops back in his chair. "Good, Dean," he breathes, patting Dean's hand with his own. "You did real good."

Meesh looks to Cas. "Let's go."

Castiel, Meesh, and Dean disappear at once, leaving Bobby and Sam alone in the kitchen. Sam's body can't decide whether to sink from relief that his brother is finally at the hospital, or remain standing for whatever punishment Bobby will surely dole out so Sam can take it like a man. Eventually he opts to sit down at the table with the older hunter, so he takes the chair across from him. Bobby doesn't say a word, doesn't even look up, just keeps his gaze fixed on the bloodstained table cloth.

"Bobby," Sam says at length, but the addressed holds his hand up.

"Not yet," he utters, voice low. Sam nods once and rests his back against the chair. Bobby's fingers trace a circle around the blood stain. The second hand of the clock on the wall ticks away like a bomb.

"BOBBY." Sam speaks the name with insistence, and the hunter finally glances at him. Sam feels like he's staring down a firing squad. "I'm sorry!" he whispers, then, feeling the need to bolster his words, adds: "I never meant to hurt him. You have to believe me!"

Bobby gives a small nod. "I believe you—well, the part about you bein' sorry, anyway. The rest…" Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, he stands up and moves to the sink. He turns the faucet on and cups water in his palms. "Go upstairs and grab Dean's duffel," he orders as he washes his face. "Make sure all his favorite stuff is in there. He's gonna need some simple comforts when he wakes up. You know how much he hates hospital clothes." He grabs the dishtowel to pat his face dry.

"Bobby?"

The older hunter looks up at his name and finds Sam still sitting at the table, looking very confused. "Grab Dean's duffel?" Sam repeats, unbelieving. "That's it?"

"It's a simple request, Sam."

"No, I know, but…you want ME to get it?" Sam rises to his feet. "You're letting me come along?"

"I'm MAKING you come along. Not letting you outta my sight."

Sam scoffs at that—he can't help it. "What, you really think I'm gonna hurt Dean again?"

"You weren't supposed to hurt him the first time," Bobby growls.

Sam's face drops back into sorrow. "I know, and I hate myself for what I did. But I've learned my lesson, Bobby, I swear." Bobby grunts at that and busies himself with moving dried dishes off the rack and onto the counter top. Sam sighs, "Bobby…say it. Whatever you're trying to hold in right now, just SAY it."

Bobby chuckles as he looks back at Sam. "And what exactly am I supposed to say here? You want a lecture on why crushing all of Dean's bones is bad? Call me crazy, but I'd say that's pretty damn obvious, doncha think?"

Sam swallows hard and nods. "I didn't mean to hurt him," he says for what feels like the hundredth time. "I know that doesn't excuse what I did, and I'm not trying to get out of it, okay? But I swear, Bobby, I SWEAR, it was an accident."

Bobby's eyes narrow at once. "Accidents just happen, blink of an eye, done. But you had time, Sam." He closes the distance between them, one step at a time. "I heard you boys arguing. You could have backed down but you just had to keep going, didn't you?"

Feeling cornered, Sam snaps back, "Yeah, I was mad. Dean spied on me and Ruby."

Bobby snorts. "Oh, so Dean's the bad guy here. Glad you set me straight."

"I'm just saying that you didn't hear everything we were talking about," Sam continues, voice rising in frustration, "and if you had—"

"What, Sam?" Bobby interrupts, voice as cold as his face is stony. "I'd understand why you did it? It'd make mashing Dean's guts through his ribs okay?"

"No! Of course not. Look—"

"No, YOU look," Bobby snarls as he gets in Sam's face, eyes drilling into his skull. "You've asked an awful lot from all of us for a good long time now. You say a demon's okay, and we're supposed to believe you. You sneak out all the time, but we can't ask you where you were, or what you were up to. You keep secrets—hell, you flat out LIE right to our faces, and we're all expected to be okay with that!"

Sam opens his mouth, but Bobby cuts him off with a look. "Don't you dare tell me you know what you're doin'. The same horseshit came outta your daddy. Stunk then, and it stinks now."

He takes his hat off and looks at everything in the kitchen except Sam. "I shoulda listened to Meesh. She wanted to come down right away when we heard the shouting. I'm the one who told her that we needed to give you boys some space, let you hash out your issues. It never occurred to me that you'd hurt your own brother." Sam flinches but Bobby isn't done laying out the hard truths. "And not just crush his body; no, you had to crush his spirit too. Confirming Dean's worst fears, telling he should've stayed in Hell, that you don't want him around, that he's nothing but a problem."

"That isn't true," Sam whispers, unable to lift his gaze to meet Bobby's disappointment any longer.

Bobby shakes his head, his mouth drawn in pain. "I'm not the one you have to convince, Sam."

"I know. But no matter how long it takes or what I have to do, I'm going to make Dean believe it, too." Sam's voice is heavy with grief as he finally raises his eyes to meet Bobby's. "So what happens now?"

Bobby heaves a long sigh. "I'm not gonna get my shotgun and run your ass off my property like I did with your daddy, but I ain't making any more excuses for you neither. I'm done looking the other way, boy. You go anywhere, one of us goes with you. We ask you something, you tell us the truth. No bitching, no excuses. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Sam says, his voice subdued. The older hunter gives a brisk nod, and he turns and waves for Sam to follow.

"Get Dean's stuff and meet me at the car. We'll head out in five."

* * *

Sam Winchester has seen far too many hospitals in his lifetime, and they're all the same, regardless of size or location. The scent is Sanitized Sick, layers upon layers of antiseptic and Lysol covering but not removing the stale stench of disease. The seats are clean and comfortable, but have probably been puked on while some unfortunate patient waited to be seen. The waiting rooms have TVs and ancient magazines, but no clocks, and the cafeteria will inevitably be closed once you get your appetite back. Busy nurses rush by, and the receptionists deal with non-stop phone calls and patients, often at the same time. Sure they're all friendly and promise to give you news once there is any news to give, but then they're off again, just as you're starting to feel comforted. And then it's back to waiting. Worrying. Hoping and praying and wondering why it had to happen at all.

_It happened because you lost control._

It isn't Sam's conscience that states it, but Sam himself. The incredible I Can Do Anything! feeling from all the demon blood he drank is long gone—six hours of waiting for news on Dean, knowing full well that Sam put him here in the ICU, have obliterated any lingering effects of his power. All he has left is his guilt and a simple question: how. How could he DO that to Dean? How could he ever get so angry, so…_justified_ in his might and right that he would break his brother just to prove his point?

_I don't know, _Sam thinks back in both truth and guilt. _And that scares me._

The door across the small waiting room opens, and Sam stands up, just as he has every time the door has opened during the last hour. The nurse that had taken Meesh and Bobby into Dean's room now shuts the door behind her as she leaves. She gives Sam a brief smile before moving on down the hallway to the Nurse Station. Sam sits down again, back aching, butt sore from all the sitting. He ignores his body's complaints—they should know he isn't going anywhere. Not until he knows that Dean is okay. Yes, Meesh has been keeping him and Bobby updated on Dean's condition throughout the night, but it isn't enough.

Sam's fingers lace, seemingly of their own accord, and he bows his head and shuts his eyes.

_Heavenly Father…I know you probably aren't too happy with me these days, and I don't blame you. I thought I knew what I was doing, but now… _A tear escapes from the duct and trails down the side of his nose. _I feel so lost, Lord. So helpless. It's like, no matter what I do, it's wrong, even when it's right, and I feel so…alone. _Another tear forms, but Sam squints his eyelids tight to stop it. _But…whatever, I'm not here to pray for myself right now. I'm praying on behalf of my brother, Dean. He needs Your help, Lord. He's broken, and it's all my fault. Please, Lord, heal him, in body and in spirit. He hasn't done anything to deserve what I did to him. Take your anger out on me, Lord, PLEASE! I'm the one who should suffer the repercussions, not Dean! Just, please…don't take him away again. _The tears don't stop now. _You worked a miracle to bring him back…please keep him here. Don't let my screw up end his life. Please heal him, I pray You. Amen._

He brushes his tears off with the back of his hand and looks up. Bobby is back and standing right in front of Sam. Sam's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Don't ever be ashamed of praying, Sam," Bobby says, voice kind. "Never hurts to ask Him for help." He hands Sam the cup as he sits down next to him and adds in a grunt, "Course, it wouldn't hurt for Him to listen once, either."

"Where's Meesh?"

"Getting coffee for all of us. Might grab some breakfast if the caf's open." Bobby sits down and points Sam to the door. "You're up, kid." He hands Sam Dean's duffel. Sam doesn't move, just stares at the closed door to Dean's room. "He's asleep, if that helps," Bobby offers, and Sam lets out a nervous laugh.

"N-not really, but thanks, anyway." He looks at Bobby. "Maybe I shouldn't go in. What if he wakes up and freaks out like he did back at your house? What if I trip on one of the plugs to his monitors and he gets hurt? What if I'm not clean or something and he gets an infection cos of me?"

"Sam." Bobby says his name calm but firm, and he nods the younger man toward the door. "Go on in and see your brother."

Sam gulps as he gets to his feet, shuffling his way across the waiting room and up to the door. He shifts Dean's duffle to his right hand, takes a deep breath, and walks into the room, bracing himself for what he's about to see. The first thing he spots is a big cast. It encases Dean's entire right leg and is in traction, elevating the limb several inches above the bed. The cast also encloses his ankle and heel, but his toes are wrapped up in bandages and hooked up to a smaller traction device, with pins sticking down beneath the gauze. Sam is already sick to his stomach with guilt and grief, but he pushes himself forward.

He sets Dean's duffel down on the floor and has a look at the rest of the equipment. IV poles stand as sentinels on either side of the bed. His brother's right arm is in its own cast and is resting in a sling, and the thin hospital-issue shirt he's wearing does nothing to hide the bandages and stitches up and down his torso. Sam's eyes wander to the array of monitors and follow the track of the ventilator tubes to where they end at the mask taped to Dean's ashen face.

His brother looks dead. Only the mechanized rise and fall of his chest and the steady blip-blip of the heart monitor prove he isn't.

"He will live," a voice says from behind Sam, and he turns and finds Castiel. The angel looks as haggard as Sam feels.

"How is he?" Sam asks him as he turns back to face Dean.

Castiel moves forward and stands beside him at the foot of the bed. "He is free from pain for now. But he will be in this room for a very long time."

Sam nods, face solemn. The list of Dean's injuries was as horrendous as it was ludicrous; whenever Sam thought Meesh was finished, she'd tell him and Bobby more. Fractured right femur. Right tibia broken in two places. Dislocated right shoulder, torn rotator cuff, hairline fracture in the right clavicle. Fractured humerus. Crushed (for lack of better medical term) right foot. Three broken ribs on his left, punctured left lung, and ruptured spleen, which was later removed. He also learned that the aorta had been "nicked," as Dr. Iverson had put it, and that Dean had crashed several times on the table. Sam looks at the cardioversion paddles on the wall.

"How did you know?" Sam looks at Castiel as he asks the question. "You came to Bobby's just in time."

"I felt his pain."

That makes Sam shudder. Cas must notice, because he expands on his statement. "Not his body, but his soul. I was…far away from here, when I was overcome by Dean's despair. I have never known anyone to feel so…alone. Unwanted. Dean feels that way every day, but in that moment…it was as if his very last hope was swept away."

Sam nods again, tears welling. He looks at Castiel, expecting to find blue-tinted blame staring his way, but the angel keeps his eyes on Dean. "Not long ago, we were in a different hospital," Cas states. "But Dean looked much the same. He was there because, as you put it, Uriel and I could not keep a simple devil's trap together. And now he is here," the angel turns his unfaltering blue gaze to Sam, "because you could not control your temper."

Sam nods again at the simple truth. "I hurt him," he whispers. "I _failed_ him."

"As did I." Castiel holds Sam's stare for a moment before he looks back to Dean. "Perhaps we are not so different, Sam."

Sam knows he's not out of the doghouse yet, but he accepts the small olive branch with gratitude and a small smile. "Thank you for saving him, Cas."

Castiel glances at him. "Thank you for praying for him." Sam's eyebrows lift with surprise, but the angel does not respond. Instead, he steps away from the bed. "I will leave you to talk with your brother while he is still awake."

Cas disappears, and Sam's head snaps back to look at Dean, who still appears all but dead to the world. "He's…?" His question trails off when he spots the tiniest cringe around Dean's eyelids, unnoticeable to all but Sam, master of Dean's I'm Not Actually Asleep tells.

"Dean?"

Big brother decides to keep faking sleep, so little brother just keeps talking. "Dean, hey…Cas says you're not feeling any pain. I hope he's right. Meesh promised she'd hook you up with the really good stuff." His little joke makes an even littler difference in the tension in the room. Sam moves around to the left side of the bed and sits down in the chair there. Then he peers up at Dean's face for a few moments, struggling to know where to begin. He decides to go with the most obvious, yet most important. "I'm sorry." The words bring tears to his eyes. "I know that doesn't make any of this okay…it never will. But Dean…I'm so, SO sorry. I don't know what came over me. I-I lost control…maybe I took too much, I don't know. I was just so…angry!"

He hangs his head and shakes it. "And there I go making excuses for myself again," he mutters. "Truth is, there is no excuse. I hurt you, and then I told you…" His hand comes up to his mouth as he recalls what he said. "I told you that you should've stayed in Hell!" he admits, voice high with emotion. "I didn't mean it, Dean. Any of it. I don't know why I… It's like part of me…_wanted_ to hurt you." His hand is trembling as it drops back to his lap. "Guess I've graduated from being a freak to becoming a monster. And you were my first victim."

Tears cascade down his face as he looks from Dean's upraised leg to the ceiling. "I'm sorry!" he swears again. "Sorry it happened, sorry I couldn't stop it from happening…" His gaze rests on Dean's face once more. "Please, Dean, just look at me?"

Dean's eyes open and look at Sam. Just…look at him. There's recognition there, but little else. No anger. No blame. No love. It hurts Sam worse than any bullet, knife, or demon ever could.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, looking him right in those tired green eyes. "It will never happen again. I'll be so much more careful from now on, I promise." The eyelids snap shut again halfway through the last word. Unnerved, Sam stands up and winds his way around the bed and machinery. "I'll, um…let you get some rest. Check on you later." It comes out so quietly that Sam has no idea if Dean even heard him, but he also knows that it really doesn't matter. He slips out the door and shuts it behind him.

Meesh and Bobby are still in the waiting room, sitting quietly with Castiel. No words are exchanged, just nods of greeting and shared sadness.

Suddenly, Castiel's head snaps toward Dean's door. "Something is wrong." All four of them jump to their feet and follow the angel to the room. "I don't sense Dean," he informs them before they inquire. "It's as if he's no longer…there."

The last word comes out as Cas swings the door open and finds an empty room. The bed is made, the barricade of monitors and IV poles are against the far wall, and the curtains are open. Even the chair Sam was just sitting in is across the room instead of next to the bed. It's there that Sam strides now, one hand already carding through his hair as he tries to make sense of it, and fails. He looks up at the others, sharing their bewilderment.

"What the hell?" Sam asks for them all.

"It's funny," a new voice comments, and they all look back at the door as Anna enters the room. "No one ever asks 'What the heaven.' I've always wondered why." She stops in front of them and smiles. "Good morning, everyone."

"Who are you and what've you done with Dean?" Meesh demands, donning her Mama Bear mantle.

"I'm Anna," she replies. "Dean and Sam helped me a few months ago. They believed me when no one else would." She offers Sam a fond smile. "And after they helped me recover my grace—"

"Wait, you're an angel?" Bobby asks. "Like Cas?"

"Yes," she replies, at the exact same time that Castiel says "No." They look at each other. "Anna is my sister," Castiel elaborates. "And she was once the head of my garrison. But she fell to Earth long ago and was reborn human. She turned her back on our kind and our Father. She is NOTHING like me."

"And yet you're more like me every day," she points out. "Thinking for yourself? Having doubt about what is truly Father's will?" Castiel looks away, and she moves up to him. "You shouldn't be ashamed, you know. Uriel and those like him were the ones being disloyal. You truly are the best of all of us, Cas." Anna puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it, but Castiel takes no comfort from it. He steps away and regards her with a piercing gaze.

"Where is Dean?"

"Somewhere safe, I hope." Her answer is in turn answered by glares, so he puts her hands up on either side of her and shrugs. "I honestly have no idea. He only asked for my help in getting out of here."

"But how did you…when did—?" Sam stammers. Anna just sits down on the bed, calmly waiting for Sam to spit out the real question. "Dean was…" He gestures to the bed, then the monitors. "And I was only out of the room for a few seconds. Seconds! Even with your grace, there's no way you could have healed him AND snuck him out AND made this room spic and span in just a few seconds!"

"Unless she stopped time…" Castiel looks to Anna to confirm his suspicion, and she nods.

"It was necessary. The healing took the longest. His body was so very broken…" A sparkling tear slips down her face as she thinks back on it. "Then we both cleaned up the room, and after he recorded his good-byes—" She gets "What?" chorused into her ears, along with a look of curiosity from Castiel, and she smiles at them all. "You honestly think Dean would just take off without telling you why?" She shakes her head. "Maybe you really DON'T know him as well as I thought."

Standing up, Anna walks over to the TV mounted high on the wall and touches her finger to the screen. It switches on, and Dean's smiling face appears. He's dressed in a fresh pair of his own clothes and looks healthy and happy. Anna turns the volume up on the TV just as Dean begins to talk.

'So you'll really remember everything I say?' he asks. Anna's voice replies from off camera:

'Yes, just keep your focus on my eyes and I'll play back my memory to your family once you're gone.'

'Hafta say, you're the prettiest camcorder I've ever seen,' he flirts, giving the "camera" The Smile. Anna somehow resists it this time.

'Just get to the point, Dean. I can't keep time frozen forever, y'know.'

Dean nods and looks down, readying himself. He blows out a breath, licks his lips, and murmurs, 'Yeah, this isn't weird or anything…' Then he looks up at the camera…waits a beat…and begins. 'Hey everyone, ah…it's me. Dean. Back in action, thanks to Anna here. Cas, I'm sorry I didn't come to you for this, but I know you used a lot of your mojo just to keep me alive. I didn't want you to get hurt trying to do even more. You've already gone above and beyond for me—didn't need you going so far away, you couldn't come back. And with my plan on top of it…' He scratches behind his ear as he gives a sheepish smile. 'Let's just say your superiors aren't gonna be too happy with me, and I know that'll lead back to you. So I called on Anna, cos I knew she had the juice to heal me, plus, you know…she's already on the run as it is. I figured a few more points off her license wouldn't hurt. No offense, Anna.'

'None taken,' her voice replies. 'I would've made the same decision.'

Dean nods at her understanding, and his face grows serious. Green, soulful eyes seem to settle on the angel in the trench coat. 'Cas…I know you're probably freaking out that you can't sense me anymore.'

"You can't sense him at ALL?" Sam asks, having thought the angel just couldn't detect Dean being in the room anymore. Castiel shakes his head no but keeps his eyes on the screen, so Sam looks back. Dean is rolling up his sleeve, and soon the familiar handprint burn is revealed. However, there are now markings on the burn: ornate scrolls of words and symbols, etched into the handprint as upraised, white scars.

'It's like an Enochian temporary tattoo,' Dean explains. 'Anna's the only one who can remove it, so until that day comes, I'm off angel and demon radar. And don't bother drilling Anna for info on where I am, okay? She doesn't know. No one knows except me. And I'm not tellin'.'

His smirk opens up for a moment, but he looks down, gathers himself, and drops the good mood. 'I'm gonna be gone for a while. That's why I'm not just lying low, I'm practically disappearing. I don't want to go…' He grits his teeth, looks to something off camera, and then looks back and starts over. 'But the fact is I need to get my shit together. My size shifting is out of control, and I need time to train and get a hold of it. But it's not like Lilith is gonna stop breaking seals or call a time out on the Apocalypse. We all know the fight isn't over—not by a long shot. And the last thing any of you need is me screwing something up again.'

Bobby grumbles "Idjit" at the screen, and again, Dean's eyes seem to go straight to the speaker, like he's in the room with them instead of on a pre-recorded message. 'You said it yourself, Bobby: I'm a liability. I can't pretend like these powers are just an inconvenience anymore. They're a part of me, and it's high time I stop letting them own me. That's why I need to leave and do some serious training. And yeah, Meesh, that means training my mind and emotions, too. I can't let how I feel up here,' Dean taps his head, 'affect my abilities. I'm just sorry I was too stubborn to take your good advice until now.'

"Oh Dean," she whispers, dabbing at her eyes as her face is overcome with a mix of pride and worry.

'It's bad enough when my feelings trigger a size shift, but when they paralyze me so I'm stuck at whatever size, like I was last night…' He swallows hard. 'It almost got me killed.'

Sam has to look away now, and though no one else looks at him, he still feels their glares. 'I'm no use to anybody if I'm not at my best,' he hears Dean continue. 'And if I can't even help myself, then I'm pretty worthless. And I can't…I mean, it's bad enough when I think it, but when he…' There's a long pause, and they all wait for Dean to finish his thought, but he ultimately shakes his head and looks back at the camera. 'Anyway. I'm outta here, and I don't know when I'll be back. Just please, for the sake of good whiskey and great pie, take care of each other. That means ALL of you. Cas, please, watch out for them, just like you did with me. Bobby, Meesh, treat Cas like family, because he IS family. And Sam?'

The name prompts Sam to look back at the TV. Dean now seems to be peering straight out at him. 'Don't treat the people who care about you like they're the enemy. You want to start making things up to us? Start by letting us back IN.'

Sam nods. "I will, Dean."

Dean sighs. 'Sammy…' He gives a sad little 'heh' before he corrects himself. 'Sorry…SAM. You said you were sorry and that you'd be more careful from now on. But being sorry isn't nearly enough. Neither is being careful. There can't BE a next time, dude. You have to stop.' Again, Dean looks down. 'But I know you won't. You're too far gone, and you don't think you need help. You'll be sneaking out again and drinking your fill first chance you get.'

Sam's body freezes up, knowing what's coming. _Oh shit._

'I can't trust you anymore,' he says quietly, stabbing Sam with the truth, 'and I can't take the risk of you hurting anyone else while I'm gone.'

"What's he talking about, Sam?" Bobby asks, but Sam's fearful eyes remain glued to the screen as Dean keeps talking.

'Cas, I found out how Sam is getting stronger. Turns out it's the same reason he's been acting so weird, Bobby.'

Sam rushes forward to shut off the TV, but Anna holds him back with ease. "No!" is all Sam gets out before Dean's voice talks over him, loud and painfully clear:

'Sam has been drinking demon blood.'

To say that their jaws hit the floor isn't enough—it's more like their jaws dropped straight through the hospital and lodged somewhere deep in the Earth's crust. 'Ruby's been feeding him since before I got back from Hell,' Dean continues. 'He's addicted to it and neck-deep in denial. Be extremely careful around him. I wish I could stay there and help, but it's pretty clear my help isn't wanted. It's not my job to take care of you anymore, right Sam? I'm supposed to shut up and stay out of your way.'

Sam flinches as his words get thrown back at him. 'So congratulations, Sam. You finally got rid of me. Took a hell of a lot of pushing, but I finally got the message to stay away. Hope you're happy.' Dean looks about as glad to say it as Sam is to hear it, meaning not at all. 'I'll see ya when I see ya. Don't look for me, cos you won't find me. And if you don't like it,' he pauses to give a cruel smirk, 'that's just too damn bad.' Then he blinks and looks away. 'All right, I'm done, Anna.'

The video ends, and Anna removes her hand from the TV. She joins the others in watching Sam, who can't look back at any of them.

"Here." Anna places something in Sam's hand. It's Dean's phone. "He took everything with him but this."

"So much for tracking his phone," Sam grunts. "He really is serious about staying off the map." Tucking the phone inside his jacket, Sam's mind fills with determination. "That doesn't mean we won't look for him anyway." He starts to pace as he lays out his ideas. "We can put the word out to all our contacts to watch for Dean. Maybe Owen can do some scrying. Other psychics might get a vibe or something, I don't know, but we can give it a shot, right?" Sam doesn't get any answer, so he's forced to look up at all of them. They're frowning.

"We got a bigger problem to deal with first," Bobby answers.

"What?"

Bobby looks at Castiel, who disappears for a moment and then reappears directly behind Sam. "You," the angel breathes. He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and they vanish.

"Where'd he take him?" Meesh asks.

"One way ticket to the panic room in the basement. C'mon, babe. We'll have to pick up some supplies before we head home." He sighs as he hooks his arm around her shoulders. "Got a long fight ahead of us."

Meesh nods, her stomach already tightening with worry. "And what about Dean?"

"Well, if you got any ideas on where to start lookin', I'm all ears."

"He's safe," Anna assures them. "Dean told me that much at least. Try not to worry about him." She disappears as well, and Meesh and Bobby turn and look at each other.

"We can try all we want, but we're still gonna worry," Meesh remarks. Bobby chuckles and leads them out of the room.

As they head for the coat racks, they pass by the one person who actually knows where Dean is heading. Not that he knows anything about Dean, much less that he's aiding in his escape, but the answer is literally at his fingertips, written in Dean's all-capital printing. The man pushes his cart to the elevator, goes down to the basement, and unloads the cart's contents into a large sack, which is soon taken up by the courier and put into his truck.

And that's how Dean goes out with the morning mail.

* * *

_2-3 days later, Geneva, IL_

Bonnie Durden is used to finding postcards addressed to her son in the mail, but a small package with holes punched in the side? That's a first. She cups her hand around her mouth to call upstairs:

"Tyler! You got something from Dean again!"

Her 10-year old bounds down the stairs, grinning wide enough to span the kitchen. "Thanks, Mom!" She hands him the package, and he turns it over, just as surprised and curious as his mom was. Then he brings it up to his ear and gives it a gentle shake. "Wonder what's inside?"

"Well why don't you take it up to your room and find out?" Bonnie suggests. She has a strong feeling that something slithery and/or slimy is enclosed, and she really doesn't want to be around to find out if she's right. Tyler races back up the stairs, and Bonnie goes back to getting dinner ready.

Shutting his door, Tyler moves over to his desk and grabs his scissors. "This is gonna be so cool!" he exclaims, already loving his present. Dean always sends him the coolest stuff, even when it's just a postcard with a short message but no name. Tyler carefully snips the tape along the edges and then pops the flapped cover open. Cotton balls are packed inside, but just as Tyler reaches for one, a few of the cotton balls push up on their own. Then a small something or other, about the size of an action figure, sits up and groans in a voice Tyler would know anywhere:

"Ugh, knew I didn't use enough cotton…"

Tyler rubs his eyes to make sure he isn't seeing things, but the small version of Dean is still there, standing up and brushing cottony strands off his jeans. He looks up at Tyler and smiles. "Hey, Tyler! Looks like I made it."

"Dean!" He reaches for him, but Dean backs off.

"Whoa, hold on…I've been squished enough already." Closing his eyes, he concentrates, and soon he's standing on top of the desk at his normal size. He gets down and then gladly wraps the kid in a hug. Tyler hugs back until it hurts Dean's back, but Dean only chuckles. "Good t'see you too, kid." He holds him out at arm's length and looks him over. "How you been?"

"Great! What are you doing here?"

"Well, to be honest, I need your help."

Tyler is stunned, to say the least. "You need MY help? What about Sam?" His friend's face drops, and it hurts Tyler to see it.

"Me an' Sam…we have to be apart right now," Dean answers cryptically. "Same with Bobby, Meesh…even Cas. I have to keep away from them so they don't get hurt."

"Is it cos of your size stuff? Like, how you can get small now, too?"

"That's got something to do with it, yeah."

"Well how can I help?" Tyler asks, sounding eager and more than ready to get going. It earns him a smile.

"You can start by asking your folks if it's okay for me to stick around for a while. We'll worry about the rest later, okay?"

Tyler nods. "We'll hafta wait until Dad gets home to ask him about staying over, but for now…" He runs over to the door and opens it a crack so he can yell down the stairs. "Moooom? Is it okay if Dean comes to dinner tonight?"

"Sure, Tyler! You know Dean is always welcome here!" Bonnie smiles at the happy cheer and "thank you!" she gets from her son. Of course, the second, deeper-voiced "thanks Mrs. D!" that follows it takes her off guard…

* * *

**A/N additional: **So as I've told a few of you already, I've often wondered what would've happened in Season 4 if two things had happened: one, if Sam had hurt Dean badly earlier on in the season, and two, if Dean had really left Sam. Would either of them have been enough to wake Sam up to what the demon blood was doing to him? Could either event have prevented Lucifer from being released? Well, we'll never know for sure, but this is my sandbox, so I'm exploring both What Ifs :) Hope you'll find the journey enjoyable! And I promise there will be some crack coming up. I know it's been a while, but we'll get back to some good crackage soon :) Please review if you have a chance, and thanks as always for reading!


	9. Can I Go Through This Again?

**Measure of a Man (continued)**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

**A/N: **PLEASE don't yell at me for taking so long to update! I've had a lot of real life crap hitting the fan. It's been tough. But I'm still here, and I truly hope what follows was worth the wait :) This chapter is a bit different from other ones, in that it's made up of vignettes to illustrate the passage of time. Each vignette will tackle a different point of the grieving process: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Yup, going deep this time around. Thanks as always for reading, with extra thanks for those who leave reviews, and buckets of thanks to dear bevarshi for helping me hash out my complex ideas into something readable! ::HUGS all around::

Chapter title is from Blur's classic song "Coping" because, hey, that's what our guys are trying to do while they're separated…

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Can I Go Through This Again?**

_Three hours since Dean left…_

Sam raps his rubbed-raw knuckles on the heavy, iron door again, even though he knows no one will open it, much less answer him. It's the principle of the thing that pushes him on: the need to show everyone that he's just fine. Sure, his emotions are all over the place, but he's dealing. See how calm he's been? Hasn't shouted once, and his fists have yet to make an appearance. Locking him up was a precaution on their part, he supposes, but it's been hours, and Sam hasn't had so much as a craving for demon blood, much less whatever it is they thought would happen. No violent outbursts. No withdrawal symptoms, which makes sense, since hey, he isn't an addict, thank you very much. No need to keep him in here anymore, because there's no danger. No point!

_No Dean, either._

A barrage of hurt/anger/grief shoots holes through his façade of composure, but Sam grits his teeth and fires back a parting shot of a thought: _Dean isn't here because he left me. HE left ME. _Then Sam reinforces his barricades in both head and heart, blocking off the cutting emotions so they can't hurt him.

_Just like big brother does! Aww._

Sam grunts and shakes his head free of the comments from his inner voice. It's bad enough that he's switching emotions every half second—he doesn't need the peanut gallery chiming in, too. So, with a deep breath, he settles back into Cool, Calm, and Collected. It's worked so far: three hours locked away in the panic room, and Sam has yet to lose it.

_Of course, the day isn't over yet..._

"Shut up," Sam mutters. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to."

Sam turns and comes face to face with himself. The other Sam is just sitting there on the edge of the cot, watching with an impassive expression.

"Oh, great," Sam snarks, hackles definitely up. "Who are you supposed to be—the Ghost of Christmas Past?" He smiles in amusement, thinking how Dean would appreciate the joke. _If Dean gave a shit and actually stuck around_, he adds in petulant thought. _The selfish dick_.

"Riiight, DEAN'S the selfish dick," his counterpart replies. Sam's eyebrows lift up, and Other Sam—or rather, Inner Sam—nods in confirmation that yes, he did just read his mind. "You can't hide anything from me, Sam, and don't bother lying, cos I'll see right through it. I'm the part of you that you've buried deep inside. Your conscience, if you will. You know, the one who gives you such great advice that you routinely ignore."

Sam groans, hands going to his forehead to rub at his temples. "I really don't need another lecture about how badly I screwed up. I get it, all right? I KNOW."

"Do you?" Inner Sam gets a glare for an answer. "It's a simple question, Sam. Do you really know what you've done?"

"Well gee, mister, when you put it that way…" Sam remarks, sarcasm dripping from his tight-lipped smile. "Why don't you enlighten me, seeing as how you're apparently the proud owner of all 26 volumes of the Encyclopedia Sammica."

Inner Sam chuckles. "Encyclopedia Sammica. That's good!" He stands up and stretches, examining the room. "Nice set up you have here, by the way. Good to see you moving up in the world. Amazing where betrayal and demon blood can take you, huh? Exotic places like Bobby Singer's basement."

"Shut up."

"Locked in the panic room," Inner Sam goes on, "Mr. Watch Out Lilith, Here I Come…now has no place to go." He shakes his head. "And no one to talk to, either. Bobby isn't there," he points to the desk, "going through the books, and Dean isn't here," he pats the metal chair by the work table next to him, "cleaning the guns. Remember what that was like Sam? Being part of the team? You, Bobby, and Dean: The Three Musketeers, minus the floppy hats and pointy goatees. And of course Dean wouldn't be caught dead in a riding cassock." He smiles fondly, noting that Sam does as well, though his eyes remain sad.

"He would've loved the sword, though," Sam mumbles. "And the horses."

"Yeah," Inner Sam agrees. Then he claps his hands once, the sharp rap bouncing off the metal curves of the room, and looks right at Sam. "So! Why'd you have to wreck everything?"

Sam's little smile drops into a scowl, but Inner Sam just keeps talking. "I mean, you keep saying that you had to change; you had to be stronger, faster, better. It's ironic that all your new strength and greatness can't get you out of this room," he knocks on the iron wall, "but the old you could've strolled out the door. Course, he never would've been locked up in here in the first place…"

"Yeah, because the old me never would have taken any risks."

"Like risking your brother's life?"

"Like doing nothing and letting Lilith WIN!" Sam hollers, straightening to his full, intimidating height. "You talk about the old me like I was perfect, but I wasn't. I was weak, and scared. I always let everyone else take charge, and look what happened! Dean made that deal and then he died and left me alone. I had to change to SURVIVE. So I don't care what kind of spin you put on it—what matters is that I'm a better hunter now. I'm in CONTROL. And if you don't like riding shotgun, then feel free to get off at the next stop, cos honestly, I'm sick to death of the constant color commentary." He turns away from his conscience and puts his hands on the cool surface of the wall, steadying himself. Inner Sam allows a few moments of silence, giving the air a chance to clear, before he speaks up again.

"If you're so much in control, Sam, then why can't you admit you're an addict? That you're seriously fucked up? That Dean only left because of what YOU did to him?" Sam turns around, a tired glare on his face, but Inner Sam meets it with a look of compassion. "Until you face those hard truths, you'll never really be your own master. And that's what you've always wanted, right? To be in charge of your own destiny?"

Sam wants to be angry with his inner self—wants to smack that Pound Puppy look off his stupid, caring face—but he isn't, and he doesn't. The justified rage he felt a moment ago has been expunged by the truth of why he's here. Sitting down on the cot, he takes a deep breath and, once regrouped, meets the other's hazel gaze.

"Look, I'm not…proud…of what I did to Dean," Sam begins. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

Inner Sam's eyes narrow as he crowds into Sam's space. "No, you didn't mean for him to get hurt. You wanted him to know how strong you were, to admit that he was weak and you were right; but he wasn't supposed to nearly die."

"Exactly," Sam nods…then frowns. "Wait, what? No! That's not it at all!"

"Then why'd you crush him?"

"It was an accident! I was in control up to that point—"

"So in control that you couldn't stop yourself?"

"Yes! I mean, no! I…" Sam trails off, confused that what he feels and what he says aren't the same thing. But Inner Sam won't let up.

"You know…if only Dean had listened and not given you any grief, none of this would have happened."

Vehement nods from Sam. "I was just trying to talk to him, but you know what he's like. He never listens."

Inner Sam likewise nods his head and replies, "Heh, yeah, don't I know it. All Dean ever does is nag, nag, nag. Don't listen to Ruby, don't sneak off, don't drink demon blood! Where does he get off telling you what to do when he has no idea what he's talking about?"

"That's just Dean, y'know? Overprotective. It's like he only pays attention to the '5' in my age, not the '20' in front of it." Sam rubs the back of his neck, trying to soothe out tendons stiff with irritation. "And I know he means well, but meaning well and being RIGHT are two different things. Plus he pretty much never admits when he's wrong."

"Especially when it comes to you, right?" Inner Sam says, and both men nod at each other in agreement. "You'd think the guy who went to Hell for you would have enough respect to let you make your own choices. So what if you die from them?"

Sam throws him a look of confusion. "Huh? I'm not trying to kill myself or anything…"

Inner Sam continues as if he hadn't heard. "I mean, it's YOUR life and all that. You have to make the tough calls now, even if it means taking on the suicide missions."

"R-right."

"'Eyes on the prize or everyone dies.' Remember that old gem from your training days?"

"Course I do—it's the truth," Sam insists, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice. "The only thing that matters is stopping Lilith."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

"Even if it means betraying everyone you love and sacrificing yourself to get to her?"

"If that's what it takes to keep them safe, then yes."

"Well, so far, so good," Inner Sam mocks. "You've got the betrayals over and done with, and the self-sacrifice? That's just about complete, too."

Inner Sam snaps his fingers and the room darkens. Sam finds himself lying on his back on the cot, twin migraines pounding either side of his head. The stench of sweat, vomit, and shit rankles his nostrils. Someone is wailing, and it sounds so wretched…so terribly alone and pained; it takes Sam a moment to realize that it's coming from his own mouth. He swallows it down dry, throat parched, and his burning eyes search for water but find none. His stomach spasms and Sam curls up, reaching a hand down to offer his belly what little comfort it can. It doesn't reach it: a chain is pulled taut, one part shackled to his wrist, the other to the cot's frame. Sam checks his other wrist and finds it the same.

"Welcome back to reality," Inner Sam says, sitting down next to him. Sam gapes at him, confused and hurting all over, and his doppelganger gives him a pitying smile. "You're in serious withdrawal, Sam, and it was too much for your psyche to handle. So you retreated into a sort of panic room in your own mind to protect yourself."

Sam licks his sandpaper tongue over cracked and bleeding lips. "How long?" he croaks at length.

"In your mind, a few hours. But out here…more like 15."

Sam tries to sit up but gets nowhere, and his body falls into trembles from the exertion. He rubs a hand across his mouth and chin, thankful his restraints will at least allow for that, and feels something cool and smooth slide against his face. Holding it out in front of him so he can see, he finds Dean's cell phone, its view screen littered with drying sweat and Sam's fingerprints.

"You can thank Meesh for that," Inner Sam informs him. "She brought it in for you last time she came by to clean you up. The shackles are courtesy of Bobby, so you'd stop attacking them…and yourself." He points to the scratch marks on Sam's stomach, throat, and arms. "Part withdrawal symptom, part self-flagellation for what you did to Dean."

Dean. The name shuts Sam's eyes and has his fingers wrapping around the phone as a lifeline.

"Careful with that." Inner Sam waits as Sam's puffy eyes crack open and roll around to find him. "It's all you've got left of your brother. You don't want to crush it like you crushed him."

Sam tries to tell him to fuck off, but all that comes out is a throaty moan. And instead of shutting Inner Sam up, it just goads him on. "Going back to what we were talking about before…I gotta ask, Sam: was it worth it? All that power, all those lies, just to end up here, lying in a bed soaked with your own piss? Cos I'm having a hard time understanding just what's so great about this."

"Leave me…alone," Sam begs as his stomach spasms again.

"And how exactly are you supposed to destroy Lilith when you're so weak, you can't even reach your own puke bucket?"

Sam mutters something, and Inner Sam leans in closer. "What's that? I don't speak Mumble."

"Said I just need…sip of…blood...and I'll get…better."

"Uh-huh. Hair of the dog, that's the answer."

"Please…"

"I'll go to your personal stock and help you out."

"Th-thank—"

"Oh WAIT, that's right—you don't HAVE a personal stock. Not since Bobby emptied out all your little flasks. And Ruby won't be stopping by anytime soon—not while you're in the No Demons Allowed clubhouse."

Sam visibly deflates, and his shaking gets worse.

"But hey, you die detoxing in here, you die going after Lilith out there—it's all good. Dean can always make another deal if you kick the bucket. I'm sure all his buddies down under would be thrilled to see him again."

"I never wanted him to make a deal in the first place!" Sam is crying, big sloppy tears rolling down his face. "He left me alone and all I had was Ruby and—"

"And Ruby gave you a way to feel special and important, to forget that you couldn't save Dean?"

Sam wipes at the tears with his hands, cursing himself for showing so much emotion. "I was just so tired of failing at everything and now, I'm finally someone who matters. I can do things other people can't. But instead of being proud of me, Dean looks at me like I'm a freak."

"Always with the blaming someone else, Sam," Inner Sam scolds. "Sure, fine, let's go with that! The problem isn't that you're slurpring blood smoothies, no—Dean's the bad guy here for looking at you funny! How dare he try and save your life! What a bastard!"

"It's not like that!"

"Oh yeah? Well hmm, you're completely blameless here, so who else…" Inner Sam snaps his finger. "What about your dad? The old man never let you do what you wanted, either. John and Dean, the Unfair Pair, bossing you around and holding you back. Life was a whole lot easier with both of them DEAD."

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Sam screams, sitting up as much as the shackles will allow. "Dad died thinking I hated him! I never get to make it up to him! And the day Dean came back was the best day of my LIFE!"

"Bullshit. You resent Dean. With him around, you're only second place. You like being in control, the strong one. You want him to follow your lead, not the other way around."

"No! I don't resent—"

"You squeezed and squeezed because for once, Dean was small and vulnerable and you were large and in charge."

"Shut up! It's not TRUE!"

"THEN WHY DID YOU HURT HIM?"

"BECAUSE I COULD, OKAY? Because I could." Sobbing, Sam puts his head in his hands as his body collapses underneath the crushing guilt. It's his fault Dean left. He's known it this whole time, but admitting it…_realizing _it…destroys what little remaining resolve he has in his actions to date. His voice is muffled as he asks, "Dean didn't leave because he's sulking, did he? He left because it hurt him too much to stay." He looks up to meet Inner Sam's tear filled eyes.

"Yes."

Sam feels as if his insides are being turned out and all he wants to do is howl his despair. Inner Sam puts a comforting hand on Sam's back as he asks, "So, Sam, what happens next?"

Sam opens his mouth to reply "Get Dean back," but the words don't come. NOTHING comes, in fact—no plan, no strategy, not even the fall-back plan involving getting a hit of Ruby's blood and then coming up with something. For the first time in a long time, Sam doesn't know what to do, much less what's right. So he starts there and confesses, "I don't know. I want Dean back, but after what I did to him…maybe Dean needs some time away from me?"

"Goes both ways, you know," Inner Sam says. "You need time to recover and regroup. You've taken the first step: facing the reality of what you've done. But if you really want to check out of rehab here, you have to start being honest with yourself."

Sam doesn't understand, and he shakes his head. "I thought I was…?"

"You've forgotten who you are, Sam. You've been so hell-bent on revenge that you've lost yourself, and in the process, you've just about killed me." Inner Sam's image ripples as deep cuts and bruises appear all over his body. The deepest marks are around his neck, as if someone had repeatedly strangled him. He points to his neck. "See this? You're choking away that part of yourself that wants to do the right thing without compromising his beliefs, that's compassionate and kind, and loves Dean more than anything in the world. Maybe you'll kill Lilith, maybe you won't. But by the time you find out, I'll be long gone and you'll have sacrificed everyone who's ever cared about you. Are you willing to pay that high a price just to take the easy way? Ruby's blood may get you there faster, but it'll land you up Shit Creek, no paddle in sight."

Sam swallows hard, face paling as he contemplates the truth laid out before him. "It's not too late for you," Inner Sam insists. "You can still clean up the mess you made, beat this addiction, work with your real friends to kill Lilith. And it won't be a cake walk, but hey, you're a Winchester. You guys live for challenges."

"It's the family motto," Sam quips, giving a small, hopeful smile. Inner Sam reciprocates as he backs away.

"So what's it gonna be, Sam? Are you going to do what's easy, or what's right?"

He disappears, leaving the question hanging in the air. Sam's red, dry eyes turn to the panic room door. His fingers wrap more tightly around Dean's cell phone. He breathes deep. His heart beats strong inside the weakened shell of his body. And in his mind, a new plan takes root.

* * *

_Four Days after Dean Left…_

Dean rests his back against the stair railing outside of Tyler's school, wishing he'd thought to come and walk him home yesterday. Then Tyler wouldn't have been beaten up by those bullies, and the guilt wouldn't still be kicking at Dean today. But life rarely, if ever, allows a do-over, so Dean is here to do the next best thing: keep Tyler safe by teaching those bullies a lesson they'll never forget.

The school bell rings, and within seconds, kids are pouring out of the front doors and running past Dean. Some head into waiting mini-vans, others to school busses lined up along the street. Dean keeps his stance as nonchalant as possible and his eyes on the door, mimicking all the other waiting adults—no need to get the soccer moms calling the police about some creepy might-be kidnapper on the steps outside of Jackson Elementary. At least he blends in clothes-wise, even if the dress shirt he's wearing, one of Waldo Durden's, all starched up and stiff and a bit too small across Dean's broad chest, makes him squirm from both how he knows he looks (monkey in a suit) and how it feels (ditto). The pants he borrowed aren't much better, itchy and short. But the clothes are all part of the plan, so, as usual, Dean just has to deal and get it over with.

Tyler appears before long, and Dean waves him over. He frowns when Tyler trots down the steps but doesn't offer up his usual grin.

"What's up? Crappy day at school?"

"No…" Tyler looks everywhere but at Dean, so Dean kneels down in front of him.

"Hey, hey, c'mon. You can talk to me, you know that."

So Tyler peers into his face and asks, "Are you sure about this?"

"What, about putting a few bullies in their place?" Dean smirks. "Yeah, I'm sure about this!" But Tyler clearly isn't reassured: he tightens his grip on his backpack straps and looks down. Dean responds by putting a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Look, what they did to you yesterday wasn't cool. And from what your mom said, this wasn't the first time. You really think it'll be the last?" Tyler shakes his head but keeps his gaze on his shoes. "Bullying is no joke. I got bullied a few times when I was a kid. So did Sam. Dad taught us to stand up for ourselves and to fight back if we had to. Show them we deserved to be respected."

"But I don't wanna fight!" Tyler says, meeting Dean's eye for a moment.

"I know, Tyler, and I won't make you. I promised, remember?" Dean waits for Tyler to nod before going on. "Fighting isn't always the answer—believe me, kid, I know. And besides…I sorta tried that approach with a different kid a while back," Dean admits, thinking on Ben and Lisa a moment, wondering how they're doing. "Told him to kick his bully in the nads. Didn't go so well."

"What happened? Did he get beat up?"

"No, worse: we got yelled at by his mom for fighting."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." Dean stands up again. "That's why this time, I'm just gonna scare the bullies. No fighting, and no one will get hurt, I promise. So you with me, or did I dress up in your dad's preppy clothes for nothing?"

Tyler smiles at last and nods. "Okay. Let's do this."

The pair head down the stairs and take a right to start walking back toward Tyler's home, just a few streets away. Tyler leads Dean to the parking lot of a mini-mart that wraps around a street corner. "I usually cut through here," Tyler explains as they head toward the 7/11 store on the far end. "It's faster than going around. And sometimes I get a slushie when it's really hot."

"I love the Coke-flavored ones," Dean tells him. "Used to be the blue ones—"

"But then they changed the flavor," Tyler finishes, "and added stupid Mountain Dew."

"Dude, I know! How can they still call it blue raspberry if they add lemony Mountain Dew? And it's everywhere now! Even at the movies…" Dean's voice trails off when Tyler motions for him to be quiet, and they come to a halt. Ahead of them, three boys are heading out of the store.

"That them?" Dean asks, and Tyler nods. "And I'm guessing the fat kid sucking down the Big Gulp on the fast track to diabetes is the ringleader." Tyler smirks and nods again.

"That's Borris."

"Borris? No wonder he's a bully." Dean blanches under a sharp look from Tyler. "Not that I'm saying it's right, I just…who the hell names their kid Borris?"

"Hey bitchwad!" The bullies are headed toward Dean and Tyler, Borris leading the way. He points the straw of his Big Gulp at Tyler and chides, "Aw, did the bitchwad bring a bodyguard?"

"Bitchwad?" Dean repeats, one eyebrow crooked. "You sure you know yer wads?" The bullies look at each other, not understanding. "I mean, you've got your dorkwads and geekwads," Dean explains, "but bitchwad? That's just stupid."

"YOU'RE stupid," Borris sends back, and the bullies exchange high-fives. Dean just rolls his eyes.

"Okay, Chubbs. I'm gonna give you one chance to apologize to Tyler before I make you pay."

The bullies pretend to be shaking. "Oooh, I'm so scared!"

"Not hearing that apology, Borris."

"Not hearing that apology, Borris!" another bully mimics in a high voice, while the third starts rocking back and forth on his tiptoes and covering his crotch, like he just peed his pants. Dean just nods and smiles at it all.

"Okay then. Tyler, you might wanna stand back."

Tyler backs off, paling as the bullies tease him. Borris goes so far as to order him to "stay there so I can put my foot up your ass for snitching." But Dean turns his head and winks at him, and Tyler nods back his thanks at the comfort. Dean faces Borris again just as the bully slurps up the remnants of his Big Gulp. Dean, cool and confident, keeps his game-face on as he straightens to his full height.

"So how 'bout it, Double Stuffed? Ever try picking on someone your own size?" He flexes his arm muscles for show—not in some lame-ass body-builder way, but just a quick Yeah, I'm Strong And I'm Gonna Kick Your Ass flair. The minion bullies back off, the former pretend pisser now looking like he might crap himself. But Borris glances back at them and waves them forward.

"It's a bluff," the bully insists, looking back at Dean with a mean smile. "You lay one hand on me," he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, "and I'm calling the police and telling 'em you touched me Down There."

"Oh I don't want to touch you," Dean answers matter-of-factly. "I want to eat you."

The bullies laugh. Dean doesn't. He starts to grow, nice and slow, allowing Waldo Durden's shirt to rip and enhance the effect. The shoulders go first, tearing at the seams.

The bullies stop laughing. "W-what are you?" Borris stammers, staring as Dean's bulging bicep gets, well…bulgier.

"I'm a Justice Giant," Dean explains. "We watch out for the little people, hiding out among you until we're needed. When we find bad people, we eat them. And I gotta tell ya, bullies? They're the tastiest." He smacks his lips for effect. The two bullies behind Borris abandon him, tearing away down the street. Dean's shirt rips down each side and drops away, leaving only a straining collar around an expanding neck. The pants split at the knees and break off, as his muscular thighs push through the seams, revealing running shorts underneath. (Hey, Dean wants to scare bullies here, not give the town a show!)

By now, Borris has begun to back off. "Look, I'm not a bully," he tries, and Dean laughs, matching him step for step.

"Bullshit. I saw what you did to Tyler yesterday. What you've BEEN doing to all sorts of kids at that school."

"I didn't mean it!"

"Just a few seconds ago you told Tyler to stick around so you could put your foot up his ass!" The giant, now about 10-feet tall (and unseen as they head behind the building next to the mini-mart), reaches a big hand out to ensnare the bully's jacket, but Borris trips on his own feet and falls on his big butt. Dean stands over him, huge and menacing.

"I'm SORRY!" Borris screeches.

"No, you're not," Dean utters. "Now stop moving—you're getting cold." He reaches for him again, and the bully takes off running. Dean gives chase, letting his longer strides carry him along at just the right pace to keep the bully freaked out. Borris doesn't get far before he's out of breath and leaning over his belly rolls for air. Dean snarls, and the boy takes off again, making Dean swallow down a chuckle so he can keep up his act.

Borris finally ducks into a long alleyway. Dean, now 20ish-feet tall, sees him run between buildings, but the giant stops just outside the alley, letting the kid think he ditched him. Something bumps against the back of Dean's calf, and he looks down and finds Tyler. Dean gives him a thumbs-up, and Tyler answers with his own, grinning. Then Dean motions for him to stay put, and he creeps forward, placing his huge boots down as easily as he's able.

"Boooor-riiis," he trills in a soft voice, though he's big enough that even a whisper echoes down the alley as a yell. "Come out and plaaay-yay!" He doesn't, of course, but Dean's heightened sense of smell detects the stench of urine from behind the dumpster. He turns sideways so his shoulders are lengthwise down the alley, grows another ten feet, and stands before the trash. "Well what do we have here?" Grasping the big metal bin in his bigger hand, he lifts it up and reveals a cowering Borris. "Looks like a bully who needs to go back to training pants." He grabs Borris with his free hand and then sets the dumpster back down.

"Please," Borris begs, only his head and arms sticking out from the top of Dean's tight fist, "don't eat me! I'll be good, I swear!"

"I don't believe you." He gives the bully a squeeze, making the kid cry out. "Do you know how many kids are afraid to come to school because of little shits like you? It's sick!"

"I'm so-ho-reeee!"

"How's it feel being bullied, Borris?" Dean snarls in the kid's pudgy, red face. "Hurts, don't it? Yeah, who's the bitchwad now?" Borris tries to push himself out of the giant's grip, but gets nowhere. Dean looks down at him in disgust. "You bullies are all the same: all big talk and big, hammy fists, but as soon as the tables are turned, you're little cry-babies. And you know what? GOOD. Because this is exactly how you make all your victims feel! Are you proud of yourself?"

"No!"

"Do you LIKE feeling like you're nothing?"

"NO, I'm sorry!"

"Well sorry ain't good enough." Dean squeezes him again, hard, and fresh tears pour down the captive's face. "You are not strong, hear me? Never were. Picking on people smaller than you is not being strong! Telling them they're weak and worthless? Making them feel like freaks just so you can brag about how much better you are? It's bullshit and it's gonna stop right the fuck now! YOU HEAR ME, SAMMY?"

"STOP!"

Dean looks down at the yell and finds Tyler at his feet, glaring up at him. "He isn't Sam!" Tyler cries. "And you're hurting him! You said you wouldn't hurt him!"

The truth hits Dean hard, and as the hot anger inside him is rapidly cooled by shock, he loosens up his hold on Borris. He can feel the kid trembling in his grip. "Do you promise to stop bullying kids?" Dean asks, looking stern. Borris' head bobs up in down in big nods.

"I promise!"

"And if you see other bullies hurting other kids, do you swear you'll do something about it?"

"Yeah, I'll stop them, I swear, just PLEASE, lemme go!"

Dean studies him a moment longer before nodding. "Okay. But don't even think of going back on your word. I'll be watching." He sets Borris down, the now former bully repeating over and over that he'll be good. Once released, he moves over to Tyler and apologizes.

"It was stupid and I swear it'll never happen again. Cool?"

Tyler nods. "Yeah. Cool."

"Cool." Borris hurries away, leaving Tyler alone with Dean. The boy looks up at the giant and finds his face pale. His big green eyes are staring at his right hand.

"Dean?"

Dean shrinks back down to normal but his gaze remains fixed on his flexing fingers. "What happened?" Tyler presses. "Why'd you call him Sam?" Dean doesn't answer…doesn't even acknowledge that he heard him, prompting Tyler to gently pull on Dean's arm, bringing his now quivering hand down with it. Dean blinks as if coming out of a trance, and he finally looks at Tyler. "What's wrong, Dean?" Tyler asks with worry. "You okay?"

Dean slowly shakes his head back and forth. "No." He looks at his hand again. "Definitely not okay."

* * *

_Six Weeks after Dean Left…_

Sam limps off the elevator, wincing each time his surely-sprained ankle has to bear any of his weight. That ghost had really done a number on him.

_I never understood that saying, _Dean says in Sam's memory. _Done WHAT number?_

_It's just an expression, Dean._

_Yeah, but seriously, WHAT number? 3? 47? 18,522?_

_Surprised you didn't list 69 first, _Sam had said with a wry grin.

_Dude, can't be 69. No one would complain about anyone doing a 69 on them. Well…except maybe you, Prudence._

Sam's fist comes up to slug his brother in the shoulder, same as it had last year, when the real conversation took place. But there's no shoulder around to receive his joking brunt this time. Dean is gone—has been for weeks now. No word. No leads. There are days Sam worries that Dean really DOES only exist in his memory anymore, but he dismisses such thoughts as best he can.

The nightmares, however, linger. Sam's tall frame is bent in constant sag lately, the fatigue of too many restless nights weighing heavy on mind and body. But Sam will take the aching back over another nightmare any day. He goes to great lengths to remain awake, making calls, researching at libraries till they close, then returning to his temporary home and continuing the reading, always reading, on his laptop, suffering through eye-strain and stale coffee until exhaustion finally takes him. Often his delaying efforts work and he's too tired to dream. Some nights, the dreams come anyway. Always the same dream: Sam squeezing tiny Dean in his fist and telling him how much he hates him. Sometimes Sam squeezes until Dean bursts, blood and guts caking Sam's hand. Other times, Dean pushes him away, grows to normal, and leaves, saying if Sam really wants him gone, then he's going—for GOOD.

Not once has Sam been able to stop himself or keep Dean around, and thus no matter which outcome presents itself the same thing happens once the dream is over: Sam wakes up in a motel room with a single bed. One bag on the floor. One pair of shoes kicked under the desk, its chair sporting one draped jacket. Reality, in other words—stark, unmistakable, lonely reality, and only himself to blame for it.

So Sam hunts. Every case, anywhere, he goes, no matter how small the lead or how far away it might be—anything to keep his mind off Dean…to keep himself busy…to just keep _going_. Hence the current hunt: the ghost of a former boss haunting the company he founded, forcing peons to work themselves to death—literally. Sam had to pre-text as an I.T. guy and work there for a week just to get in and find out what was going on, but it was worth the extra effort in the end. Old P.T. Sandover was gone for good. Sam can move onto the next case now. His body groans at the thought, desiring rest for just one measly little day, but Sam ignores the complaints. He has a job to do.

Hobbling out into the night air, Sam makes his way over to the Impala and pops the trunk, tossing his ghost hunting supplies in the hidden compartment. Then he takes out his phone as he shuffles forward. Every new bruise on his back makes itself known as he slumps into the bench seat. Sam ignores the discomfort and calls Bobby. Only one ring goes by before the familiar, growly-but-in-a-loving-way voice answers him:

"How'd it go?"

"Fine. It's done." Sam starts the car. "Got anything for me?" He's met with silence on the other end of the line, and Sam pauses his hand over the column shifter. "Bobby? You still there?"

"I'm here. Just wondering why you're in such a damn hurry all the time to get to the next hunt."

"Just like to keep busy," Sam answers coolly.

"Uh-huh. More like work yourself to death."

Sam frowns. "I'm fine, Bobby."

"Yeah, but c'mon, kid—12 hunts in a little over two months? You trying to get into the Guinness Book of Hunting here?"

"No, just trying to save lives. Is that so wrong?"

"Course not. I just don't want you throwing your own away."

"I'm being careful."

"You're being Robocop, Sam!" Bobby argues. "Working all the damn time without so much as a coffee break? Nobody expects you to be a machine."

Sam pinches the area above his nose. "I know," he utters.

"So why are you pushing yourself so hard?"

Sam's gaze goes to the long-silent cell phone on the seat next to him. "Penance," he answers at length. "For what I did."

Bobby sighs at Sam's admission. "You Winchesters…always tanning your own hides with your blasted guilt. You really believe Dean wants you to work yourself to death?"

"I have to save people, Bobby," Sam insists. "Now what's the next case?"

A mix of grumbling and rustling papers hits Sam's ear. "Nothing solid right now. I'll hafta get back to you."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

"And Sam? No amount of good works on your part is gonna bring your brother back. You gotta know that, right?"

Sam doesn't answer Bobby, so the latter goes on. "I know you feel like you let him down, Sam, and let's be honest here: you did. But no amount of gold stars on your hunting report card is gonna fix things between you two."

"I know that, Bobby. That's why I have to prove to him that I've changed! He has to see…to KNOW that I won't let him down again, ever." Sam says it with both conviction and despair, determined to succeed, scared to death of failure. "I'm doing everything…ALL of this…for Dean."

"Where have I heard that before…," Bobby murmurs.

"Look, I'm off the demon blood, I'm not talking to Ruby at all. She's gone. I'm not some junkie anymore—I'm strong again, and smarter, too. The more people I save, the more proof I have that Dean can trust me again. Once he sees all the good I've done, he'll forgive me and come back!"

Bobby sighs again. "I dunno. Sounds like a pretty messed up bargain to me. What if you mess up? You're only human, just like the rest of us."

"I won't. Simple as that."

"Okay, Mr. Perfect, well what happens if Dean never finds out about any of it? He's completely cut himself off from the rest of the world here—might as well be on Mars, as far as we know. How exactly is he supposed to hold up his end of the bargain and come back if he doesn't care what you're up to?"

Sam swallows hard at that question. "Let me know when the next case comes up."

"Aw, hell, Sam, that came out wrong. Of course Dean cares about—"

"I gotta go. Bye."

Sam hangs up the phone, but no sooner has he ended the call than the device drops in his lap. His hands are shaking again, and badly. It's a parting gift from his withdrawal days—one that shows up whenever things get a little too real. He curls his fingers into fists and squeezes, willing the shakes to go away, but it doesn't work. He pushes his fists into the leather of the bench seat on either side of him and shuts his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm down. That doesn't work, either.

"Just go," he says to himself, and his shaking right hand moves up to the column shifter and puts the car in reverse. Soon the Impala is away from the building and stopped at a light. It's late, so the red light is blinking. No other cars are around. Sam just has to pull ahead or take a right or left. He can even turn a U-ey if he wants—any direction will do. But Sam's foot remains on the brake, and the Impala sits at the light. Sam realizes he has nowhere to go. There's no hunt to prepare for, no destination to head toward, no would-be victim to save.

"Free time, can you believe it, Sammy?"

Sam looks to his right and finds Dean there, beat up after the hunt, same as him, but grinning all the same. "Whaddya think? Last call at some dark bar, or morning smut at a darker, nudie-r bar?"

Sam gets that little smile on his face that says 'aww, Dean, your enthusiasm is so cute' and 'eww, Dean, that's disgusting' at the same time. "I'm thinking sleep, shower, laundry, breakfast, in that order."

"Dude, we just did laundry."

"Dude, it's been weeks. Your shirts could probably sit up on their own."

"Hey, my shirts are fine." Dean shrugs his shoulder up and takes a sniff anyway, and Sam doesn't miss the face his older brother makes. "Well, they're still better than your socks. It is okay to own more than one pair, y'know."

"I own lots of socks, Dean."

"Yeah, and they all reek!"

"Okay! So laundry, like I said."

"AFTER the nudie bar."

"Dean…"

"Fine, AFTER the regular bar."

Sam holds up his fist. "Shoot you for it?"

Dean nods and gets ready. "Just warning you, Sammy. Tonight is my NIGHT."

And the Rock Paper Scissors game is on. "One, two, three, SHOOT!"

Sam picks rock as per usual and grins in victory. "Are you EVER gonna pick paper, Dean?"

His question is answered by a honk from the car behind him. Sam's foot hits the gas at once and he pulls through the intersection, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure that wasn't a cop car. To his luck, it was just another late-night driver, and he turns instead of tailing the Impala. Sam breathes out and shakes his head. "Sorry about that."

Dean doesn't reply, so Sam looks to his right. Dean isn't there. He never was.

Sam opens the glove compartment and takes out Dean's cell phone. No messages, no missed calls. Same as every other time he's checked. Sam sets the phone back in the small box and then picks up his own and puts it in his pocket. He keeps driving forward.

Really, it's all he can do.

* * *

_Two Months after Dean Left…_

Dean reaches his arms up again, muscles tired and beginning to shake from over-exertion, and starts his ninth climb up the tree. He's glad he thought to anchor the lantern in the branches far above him; otherwise he'd be doing this in the complete dark. A nearby squirrel is his audience, nibbling on an acorn as he watches Dean's latest ascent.

"Watch it, Rocky," Dean grunts, pushing off another foothold. "You point and laugh at me one more time, and I'm gonna feed you your own tail. Got it?" The squirrel just keeps nibbling on his snack, tail very much unruffled by the threat—it did come from a human smaller than said tail, after all. Dean climbs on, keeping his focus on the notches in the bark instead of the stuck-up squirrel. When he finally reaches the large bow, he swings his legs up and rests against the lantern for exactly one moment. Then, with a quick check of his parachute, he gets in position, eyes the ground, readies his powers...and jumps.

"One Mississippi…two Mississippi...THREE!" He grows before he hits the ground, and he lands with ease. But Dean takes one look at his legs and stomps his boot: he overshot it again. Instead of his usual height, as was the goal, he's at least 10-feet tall.

"Dammit!" Dean leans his head back, breathes in, then drops his head and breathes out, wholly frustrated with himself. He spots the tiny parachute pack resting against a twig and crooks a finger through the little straps to pick it up. Redoing the tiny Velcro locks with his thumb, he sighs and says, "Looks like we're going again."

Rocky remains quiet as Dean lumbers back to the birch tree, shrinking back down to a four-inch height, roughly the same as the action figure toy who had lent Dean his parachute in case of a powers-failure emergency. But just before Dean reaches his arms up for another climb, he hears a wooden snap. Rocky bolts, but Dean ducks behind the tree, keeping small but ready to grow if he has to. A round light bobs into view, and Dean relaxes. He's come to know that particular bobbing pattern very well after all the nights he's spent out here.

"Dean?" Tyler calls as he approaches the birch tree. Dean comes out to meet him, and Tyler shines his flashlight down on the small figure. Dean throws his arms out to shield himself from the glare.

"Hey, don't blind me!"

Tyler clicks his flashlight off at once with a "Sorry!" Then he kneels down in front of Dean. "How's it going tonight?"

Dean shrugs. "It's going. Six times right, three times wrong so far, so gotta keep jumping."

"But Dean, it's already 12:30."

"Exactly! Still early. Plenty of practice time left." Dean looks up at Tyler's big eyes as the kid tilts his head, like he's studying him. "What, something on my face?"

"You're shaking." Tyler reaches out just as Dean denies it and gently wraps a hand around the little form, picking him up. "You overdid it again, didn't you?"

"Put me down, Tyler, I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Dean. You need to get some sleep."

"I sleep," Dean argues.

"You need more than an hour a night. That's a nap, not sleep. And you don't eat much, either. And you keep exercising too hard, and lifting too much weight, and you run for forever but you never stop and take a break. And don't say I'm wrong," Tyler points his index finger at Dean's small face, "cos I've been there and seen everything. You need some rest, so you're gonna get some rest."

And with that, Tyler turns and heads back toward his grandparent's house, where he, his family, and Dean are staying for the summer. But Dean grows and forces Tyler to let go, and by the time Dean is his normal height, Tyler is scowling up at him, looking so much like Sam that Dean has to turn away.

"You don't understand, Tyler," Dean begins, heading back to the birch tree. "I have to get this right."

Tyler follows and yells, "But you did get it right! Six times!"

"Out of nine," Dean grumbles. "It isn't right until it's nine out of nine."

"Says who?"

"Says ME. And Sam. And Bobby and my dad and every hunter out there! You train and train until you can do this stuff in your sleep. It has to become a reflex or it isn't good enough, and you'll screw up, and someone else will get hurt, maybe even DIE. And then it's on you, and you have to live with that mistake the rest of your life. THAT's why I'm out here busting my hump instead of sleeping. I have to be PERFECT or I can never go back to my family, and that's the goddamn truth."

He says it much more gruffly than he wants to, but he's so tired. Tired of being questioned, tired of being doubted, tired from working so hard and still not having his powers completely down, and most of all, tired of being so damn _tired_. But damn if the hurt look Tyler sends up at him doesn't have Dean feeling shitty about letting his problems get to him. The walls rebuild at once, and he reaches up and grabs his lantern out of the tree.

"Sorry," he says to Tyler. "Didn't mean to bite your…" he yawns, "head off." Dean's yawn makes Tyler yawn, which nearly makes Dean yawn again, and he shrugs his shoulders and sighs in resignation. "Fine, you win. Let's get some shut-eye." He walks off, holding the lantern out in front of them to shine the way back to the house.

"Why're you so hard on yourself?"

Dean turns and finds Tyler still standing where he'd left him. "Remember Track n' Field Day on the last day of school, and I came in second in the 50-yard dash, and I was all mad that I didn't run fast enough, and you said 'Ty-Guy, don't be so hard on yourself, you did great!', and I didn't believe you, and then you said that I did my best, and that's the best thing to do?" Dean nods at Tyler's rambling question but keeps a smile from creeping out. "So now it's your turn! You always do your best, Dean—always! And you do great! You're the coolest grown-up in the world! And you've got superpowers, too, and you've been training every day since you mailed yourself to my house, and look at all the stuff you can do with them now! You can grow or shrink whenever you want, and stay big or small as LONG as you want…it's awesome!"

Dean rubs at his face like he's wiping off all the praise Tyler just covered him in. "Okay, fine," he sighs, "so I've come a long way, I'll give you that. But I've still got a long way to go." He shines the lantern down on his watch to check the time. "C'mon, Ty-Guy-Who-Likes-Pie. If you want me to catch some Z's before dawn we need to head back right now." He starts walking off again, but Tyler dashes after his friend and comes to a dead stop right in front of him.

"Dean." Tyler enunciates the word as a sharp spear, and it cuts Dean deep. "You don't have to be perfect. You just hafta be YOU!" Sparkling eyes peer up at Dean's face, desperate for Dean to believe, but the hunter ultimately shakes his head no.

"Just being me has never been good enough," Dean says. "Not once in my entire life."

And that's that. The two walk back to the house in silence, Tyler wishing he knew what to say to change his friend's mind, Dean too depressed by his lifetime of failures to listen. As Tyler sneaks up the stairs, Dean takes off his watch and boots and settles onto the pull-out sofa bed in the den. All of his muscles first cringe from pain, then sigh out in relief as they relax one by one into the surprisingly soft mattress. Dean tucks his gun under his pillow and shuts his eyes.

"Late night?"

…only to open them again at the unfamiliar voice. The lamp switches on next to him, courtesy of a man in an expensive suit, who is sitting on the edge of the pull-out, smiling at Dean. He's late middle-aged and balding, white hair taking on the hue of yellowed newspaper thanks to the dim light. "Calm down," the man says in a hushed voice, "I'm not the enemy, Dean."

"Christo," Dean spits, but the man chuckles.

"Not a demon either. Wrong team."

Dean's eyes first widen and then narrow as he understands what he means. _Just what I need: another dick with wings in my life._ He sits up and rubs the heel of his hand over his face. "So which one are you?"

"Zachariah. I'm Castiel's superior."

Dean gives him his best Big Fucking Deal look. "Superior what, exactly?"

"Let's just say I'm in upper management." He gives Dean a very corporate smile to match his boasting tone.

"Uh-huh. Well come back later, Chuckles. My office hours don't start until after the third cup of coffee."

"I'd be happy to come back later, Dean, but that little brand on your shoulder has made you a very difficult man to find."

Dean glances at Castiel's handprint overlaid with Anna's Enochian sigils and understands. "I'm dreaming."

"Bingo! So let's talk." He pats Dean on his knee. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me where you're hiding out these days…?"

"Sure thing, pal! I'm about ten miles west of Nowhere. So just head yonder, turn left at the Denny's, go thataway for a while, and you should be there in about, oh," he checks the skin where his watch would normally be, "half past a freckle."

Zachariah smirks right back. "All right, consider the crap cut." Dean nods once as a thank you. "I'm here because you're important, Dean. The world needs you out there, stopping Lucifer, preventing the Apocalypse, not sitting here…" he sweeps his arm out, "hiding away in some secret location!"

"Yeah, well, I already told Cas that I'm not interested in being Team Angel's go-to guy. Find somebody else."

"There IS no one else. It has to be you, Dean. You're the only one."

"Oh that's right, it has to be me, cos I started this whole mess by breaking in Hell." Dean is smirking again, though this time with bitterness. But Zachariah takes no notice of it, just nods his head in confirmation.

"That's one of the reasons, yes, but there are so many more. You're GOOD at what you do, Dean. No one can deny that. And it isn't just your training or all of your experience that makes you so successful as a hunter: it's because of who you are. This is your destiny, and no matter what you do to try and avoid it, it's going to find you every time and bring you back."

"Destiny," Dean repeats. "Now there's a crock. Tell me something—if I'm so damn important, then why did it take you so long to bust me out of Hell? If you got me out of there before I broke, NONE of this Apoca-shit would've happened!"

"It isn't exactly a cakewalk to fight through armies of demons, you know, but we came down at the appointed time and fought our way through Hell for you anyway. As it is written—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, spare me the Bible thumping. I don't care, all right? Not about destiny or any kind of Master Plan. See this?" Dean holds his right hand over his head and scissors his fingers through the air. "Pinocchio just cut his strings. I'm done." And with that, he rolls over, putting his back to the annoying angel.

Zachariah stares at him a moment before breaking into a smile and snickering. "Dean, Dean, Dean. They warned me about your attitude." He stands up and folds his hands behind his back. "I think it's about time we worked on that."

Chains burst through every wall in the room and bind Dean's four limbs with red-hot shackles that burn through his skin. As Dean cries out in pain, giant meat hooks slice into his torso, one attached to a chain from the ceiling, the other to the floor. The dream version of Tyler's grandparent's home is swallowed by a black void, as the stench of sulfur and death poisons the air.

"No," Dean whimpers, and he promptly clears his throat to remove the quivering fear in his vocal chords. Then he coaches himself in his usual, strong voice: "It's not real. You're dreaming, Dean, and this asshole angel is making you think you're back in Hell, but it's NOT REAL."

"It's as real as I want it to be," Zachariah smiles. "Consider yourself restrung, Pinocchio. Show's just getting started." With a lift of his index finger, every chain and meat hook tightens its grip. Dean holds in his scream and glares at the man with everything he's got.

"Thought you said you weren't a demon."

"Oh I'm definitely an angel—in fact, I'm known as the Angel of Surrender. That whole 'Thy will be done' thing? It's my job to make it happen." He leans down into Dean's face and snarls, "So you will let go of this insubordination and surrender to His Will, or we'll throw you right back into that stinking Pit where we found you. Is that clear?"

The angel glares into Dean's face a few seconds before backing off again. "It's sad, really. So much potential—wasted. You might be out of Hell, Dean, but you're still just as broken as you were down there: a slab of raw, dripping meat on a spit above the world's biggest grill. Sure, you got off the rack eventually and helped carve the other turkeys down there, but that's only because you broke. Too tender," he pokes Dean right where a meat hook is sticking up through his stomach, making the human wince, "too soft. Always and forever, amen."

Zachariah begins a slow pace around Dean, somehow staying level with him despite the lack of floor, walls, or any sort of structure in this hole. "But somehow, you always find some way to keep going. I don't know if it's tenacity or just dumb luck. Bobby Singer's occult remedy was the only reason you survived the poison attack I arranged—"

"That was YOU?"

The angel looks at him like it's obvious. "I sent the tornado, too. I had to test your mettle, Dean. See if the Chosen One was truly forged in fire, or just scrap metal. And for the record, I'm still not sure."

"Well I'm sure of a few things," Dean snarls, but Zachariah plucks one of the taut chains before Dean can list his insults, and the fresh-from-the-forge manacle singes deeper into its captive's left ankle. Dean hisses at the pain but keeps his poker face on, unwilling to let the angel have any more satisfaction. He rides out the throbs, then the stinging, and finally the twangs, while Zachariah looks on, unimpressed.

"Your stubbornness is admirable, Dean, I'll give you that. You've got more spirit than I would've given you credit for."

Dean licks his lips and mutters, "So all that talk about destiny and you guys needing me…that was just to butter me up, huh?"

Zachariah sighs. "What I said about needing you is, unfortunately, the truth. It is written that you are our Champion, so now we're stuck with you. Personally, I think the Boss bet on the wrong brother. Sam is clearly the better choice, don't you think? Too bad about the tainted blood—he would've been perfect. Now he's just an abomination with a good reputation." He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

Dean can't believe his ears. "So you went from telling me to stop Sam to being his number one fan?"

"Well at least Sam gets the job DONE. You, on the other hand, can't even get your own powers under control."

"They ARE under control," Dean seethes. "I've been training for months."

"Then how about a demonstration?" Zachariah gestures to the shackles. "Go ahead, Dean, break your chains. I'll even wait."

The smug smile is back, and oh how Dean itches to punch it off his face. So he tells himself to grow…but he remains the same. He switches to shrinking, and again, nothing. "Dammit, Dean, let's go," he grunts, trying both again, concentrating to the point of sweating, until he hears the angel laughing at him.

"You can't even control them in your dreams! You really expect me to believe you're a pro in the waking world?"

Dean sags, as disappointed in himself as he is worn out. "Believe whatever you want, I don't care. Tomorrow I'll train harder than ever, and when I'm finally done? It's back to helping MY family, NOT yours." The angel is smiling again, and Dean rolls his eyes. "Now what?"

"I'm sorry, I just think it's cute that you still believe your family wants you back." A dark look crosses Dean's face at those words, and Zachariah's smile becomes cruel. "Hit a nerve? Good. Shows me you're paying attention."

A chair materializes out of the thick, black air, and he eases into it. "Y'see, Dean, your family and friends are having the time of their lives without you around. They don't have to put up with your crap—you know, the hang-ups, the bitching and moaning, the drinking, the five tons of emotional baggage you carry on your back. Nope, life is so much easier now. Sam, Bobby, the good doctor—they've all moved on. I've even reassigned Castiel to work on more…pressing matters. The fact that you're still hiding from all of us when there's no need is just SAD. No one cares, Dean! No one is looking for you."

Dean looks him right in the eye and declares, "You're lying."

"I'm an angel, Dean. We don't lie." He leans forward so he's hovering over Dean's face. "You know what your dear Sammy is doing right now? Hunting a pair of ghouls in Nebraska. Now that he isn't burdened by you, he hunts all the time! Doing a fine job, too."

Dean's poker face falls, dragged down by his faltering hopes, and Zachariah puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Did you really think he'd sit around pining away for you like some lovelorn teen? Come ON, Dean-o! Wake up and smell reality!" He shakes Dean's shoulder, and the movement makes the meat hooks twist inside the human's belly and back. But Dean doesn't feel any of it: he's too numb from the encroaching depression.

_It can't be true, _he thinks and really, REALLY wants to believe. _He at least misses me…right?_

"Oh please," Zachariah scoffs, reading his thoughts. "He wasn't exactly doing jumping jacks when you got back from Hell, or so I've heard. Why would he miss you now, when he's finally free? No more Pain in the Ass Big Brother to stop him from doing whatever he wants."

"Is there a point to this monologue or do you just like boring people to death?" It comes out as more of a mumble than a snap, but it's the best Dean can muster right now, hovering as he is on the brink of devastation.

"My POINT is that you're wasting your time. You've been in such a rush to train so you can get back there and protect someone who couldn't care less about you! Face it, Dean: you've got no one to back to. So why don't you send for the check at your Pity Party, table for one, and come and work with us?"

"Thought I was damaged goods," Dean grunts.

"True, but we'll get you back into fighting shape in no time. The Heavenly Host has the best training facility in the universe. Let us help you become the Champion you were meant to be! You could save every last person on Earth if you just drop the attitude and do what you're told for a change. And Dean, trust me on this: when you win and Paradise comes, you will be in the central palace, every kind of food and drink and girl at your beck and call. Think about it. Think HARD. You either pledge your allegiance to Our Cause, or…" Zachariah rattles the chains, "you stay here in your miserable existence until you rot. Choice is yours, Dean. Make the right one." He turns to leave, but remembers something and looks back. "And for God's sake, quit hiding from everyone. It's unbecoming."

With that, the angel was gone and Dean awoke with a start, the sound of flapping wings still echoing in his mind. He lay there for a moment, desolation filling his soul like a fast growing cancer. His heart beats in his chest as the snap of a snare drum playing out the walk to the execution pole, and Dean, a prisoner of despair, is led out and read the charges Zachariah filed against him in his dream. Dean Winchester: Failure to mankind; outcast from his family; burden to all; missed by none; a disappointment to everyone, including himself. And sure, the angel had offered him the chance to fix all of that, but what was the point? He'd just screw it up. It was only a matter of time.

'_Does the accused have any last words?' _Executioner Zachariah asks as Dean is tied to the pole and blindfolded. Dean's face turns toward the voice.

'_I have no home, no family, no future. What the fuck more is there to say?'_

The executioner shouts orders to his men. '_Ready!'_

_This is for the best, Tyler, _Dean thinks_. I'll be gone before you get sick of me._

'_AIM!'_

_Bobby, Meesh, Cas…thanks for everything. Sorry I screwed up so much. And Sammy…I know you don't care about me anymore, and I don't blame you, but for what it's worth, little brother, I love—_

'_FIRE!'_

The imaginary bullets pierce his heart, and Dean clutches the blanket to his chest as he begins to cry.

* * *

_Three Months after Dean Left…_

It's 3 a.m. Sam is beat, struggling to keep his body upright as he lumbers up the stairs to the 2nd floor and then shuffles down to his room on the far end. He's been driving north for over ten hours, having received a call about a hunt in Kansas City when he was sitting at a diner in Tallahassee. He made it to southwestern Illinois before his vision started doing the breaststroke, so here he is, just outside of a small city called Carbondale, ready to face-plant into his pillow. Turning the key in its loose lock—gotta love the security in these crappy no-tell motels—he shoves the door open and drops his bag on the floor. His fingers feel along the wall for the switch, but the lamp across the room comes on before he finds anything.

"Hey, Stranger."

Ruby is sitting on the bed, wearing a biker's jacket and very tight pants. Sam is too drained to come up with any kind of smart remark, so he turns and opens the door, letting his sweeping arm gesture say what needs to be said.

"Nuh-uh," Ruby replies. "Not until you tell me why you've been ducking me for three months."

Sam sighs; so much for sleep. "Because Dean is missing and I've been trying to find him."

"I heard he left you." She gets up. "No contact number. No forwarding address. Bet he didn't even pay for breakfast."

"We're not some couple," Sam snaps with a roll of his eyes. Ruby smirks at him.

"Some days I wonder." Standing in front of him now, she drops the smirk and reaches up a hand to cup his face. "Seriously, Sam. Are you all right? I've been worried."

He grabs her hand and forces it down. "I'm fine. And it's time for you to leave."

"Fine, don't ask for my help finding Dean."

"Wasn't planning on it," Sam says through grit teeth.

"Even though I could find him in five minutes…" Ruby smiles at Sam's attempt to keep his face stony. "Just takes a little scrying. How do you think I knew you'd be here tonight?"

"Owen's been scrying since the day Dean left and he still can't find him. And I trust Owen." Sam folds his arms. "Why should I trust you?"

"Uh, because I've been helping you?"

"Helping me!" Sam scoffs. "You got me addicted to DEMON blood!"

"It's not my fault you developed a taste for it," she shrugs. Sam is fuming, so Ruby wisely drops the sass. "Okay, fine. So I wasn't completely upfront about some of the…side effects. But you were managing!" He starts to turn, but she grabs his bicep. "Sam, you were so strong, this…one-man FORCE that could take down anything! Lilith was so afraid of you that she went into hiding. She's never run from anyone, EVER, but she ran from you. And now? She's laughing at you. They all are, Sam. Every demon, everywhere, is wondering who cut off your balls. Doesn't that piss you off?"

"No."

"No? Seriously?"

"The only thing that matters to me anymore is finding my brother." He walks away, and she shuts the door before trailing after him.

"And what if the world ends first?"

"Then let it end," Sam states, whirling around to face her again as he throws the words out. Ruby shakes her head in disbelief.

"What's happened to you?" she asks in a softened voice.

He looks her in the eye and replies, just as quiet, "I remembered who I am. Had to go through…a LOT…to get here…" The bitter smile is back. "And I hurt everyone I care about along the way…but I'm finally back. And now I have to try and set things right."

"Translation: you're breaking up our awesome, crime-fighting duo because you're feeling all warm and fuzzy about your old partner."

"This isn't a joke, Ruby."

"Am I laughing?" she challenges. "Look, I get that life's been rough for you lately, and I can see how you'd be tempted to want things back the way they used to be. But what's passed is past. You of all people should know that! All you can do is move forward. And with Lilith still out there, do you really want to go on alone?"

"I won't be alone if I find Dean."

"'If' you find him. Exactly. What if you don't? You've been searching for him for months, and you're no closer to him now than Day One. What if he wants to stay gone? Are you just going to keep chasing his ghost for the rest of your life?"

Sam turns away but the smell of her perfume follows, filling his senses. He hears her slip out of her jacket and then feels the brief gentle touch of her hand, shudders as her hand is replaced with the press of her breasts against his back and her arms around his waist. "Don't," he whispers, his voice shaking.

"I've missed you so much, Sammy," Ruby murmurs into his ear. "Come back to me. We were a team—we've been through so much worse than this and came out clean the other side. We can work this out, I promise. But you have to let me back in."

"I…I _can't_."

"Can't, or won't?" Her fingers trail over his back, and one by one, his muscles release their tension and sink into her caress. "I just hate seeing you suffering like this when I can make the pain go away. If you really want to take a break from hunting Lilith to look for Dean instead, we can do that. Whatever you want—just let me help you."

Sam turns around, readying his argument, but the words never come. He stares at her, mesmerized, as Ruby drags the sharp blade across her slender forearm. The Want, dormant all these months, awakens with a roar, as Sam watches the blood pool in small welts along the incision. Dropping the knife, Ruby dips her finger into the blood and, bringing it to her mouth, begins to suck on it, her gaze heavy with lust. Sam knows he should just walk away but God, the thought of Ruby writhing in pleasure underneath him as he thrusts into her, his body humming with power, the taste of the blood rich and sweet on his tongue…it's intoxicating. And Sam has been alone for so very, very long.

"I'll make it all better," Ruby whispers. Sam starts as he sees Ruby's finger near his lips and he automatically opens for her, like a child taking milk from his mother's breast. As the drop of blood touches his tongue, Ruby smiles in triumph.

But the blood doesn't bring satisfaction, but an unexpected clarity. It tastes like copper, not nectar. Ruby is gone just as suddenly, her beauty stripped away and leaving only a grinning demon in its place.

"How do you feel?" she asks, still smiling.

Sam spits the blood back in her face and relishes her look of disgust. "Get out."

"But Sam—"

"GET OUT!" he bellows, storming back to the door and nearly pulling it off its hinges as he swings it back open. The demon grabs her coat and shoots a look of murder at Sam, who rolls his eyes. "Don't bother with any last words, bitch. Just leave."

Ruby finally storms out of the room, and Sam slams the door after her. Then he runs to the bathroom and brushes his teeth, fighting his gag reflex as the taste of blood mixes with the mint paste. Once he's satisfied that every last bit of Wrong is gone, he washes his face, towels it off, and has a look in the mirror. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn't hate what he sees. He looks good—healthy, too, for that matter. It's just Sam Winchester in the reflection, not junkie!Sam or freakazoid!Sam or liar!Sam. What a welcome sight it is to behold.

"All right," he says to the mirror. "Get some sleep. Dean's still out there. Find him and bring him home."

That night, Sam sleeps better than he has in years.

* * *

_Five Days Later (or, Three Months and Five Days after Dean Left)_

Sam is back at Bobby's, checking in on the owlets. They've grown so big while Dean's been gone; he snaps a picture of them, just in case they fly off for good before his big brother gets back.

His phone rings, but the new picture doesn't disappear behind the Incoming Call screen. It dawns on Sam that it isn't his phone that's ringing, but the one kept at all times in his left pocket: Dean's phone. Sam nearly drops it in his haste to answer.

"Hello? Dean?"

No one answers him. Sam takes a quick look to make sure he didn't hang up on accident. The call is still active, so he brings the phone back to his ear. "Dean…it's okay, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Just listen—"

"Is this…Sam?"

A younger male voice, completely unlike his brother's, poses the question to Sam. "Yes, this is Sam. Who is this?"

"Sam, it's Tyler. Tyler Durden?"

Of course Sam remembers the kid from Chicago. "Yeah, hey Tyler, uh…why are you calling Dean's phone?"

"Cos I promised him I wouldn't call you." Tyler just leaves it at that, and Sam is about to press him for more when Tyler speaks again. "I figured that if I called you on his phone, he wouldn't find out. I don't wanna lie to him, but I HAVE to."

"Okay, Tyler…I won't tell Dean you called, but—" Realization smacks Sam in the face. "Wait…is Dean there with you?"

"He's outside."

Sam is flooded with relief—FINALLY, someone who knows where his brother is! "Is he okay? What's he doing? How long has he been with you?"

"A few months. I promised him I wouldn't tell anybody, not even you, unless it was an emergency. And I promised I wouldn't thank God for Dean getting to visit me, cos he said Cas might find out that way and he didn't even want Cas to know." He sounds so earnest as he admits all of this to Sam, and Sam in turn is floored by the information. Dean's been with Tyler all along! He'd never even considered his brother would go back there. But one crucial word that Tyler said tugs at Sam's attention, so he clears his throat.

"Tyler…Dean told you not to call me unless it was an emergency?"

"Uh-huh."

The fear in Tyler's voice gives rise to worry in Sam's heart. "What's wrong? Is Dean hurt?"

"Sorta."

Sam fights to keep his patience in check so he doesn't frighten the kid off the phone. "It's okay, Tyler, I'm here. I'm listening. Tell me what's wrong and what you want me to do."

"We're staying with my Grandma and Grandpa in Carbondale."

_Carbondale…_ The name sounds so familiar to Sam, and his eyes blow wide when he remembers why. _I was just there the other day! That's where Ruby…holy shit, I was RIGHT THERE! _

"Do you know where that is?" Tyler asks, bringing Sam back to the conversation.

"I do, yeah. Right now I'm at Bobby's house in South Dakota. Do you need me to come down there? Is that why you called?" He hears sniffling on the other end of the line. "Tyler?"

"Yes, Sam, please come here!" the boy cries. "It's Dean…he's…I-I think…"

Sam's worry is now bordering a full-blown panic attack. "WHAT, Tyler? What's wrong with Dean?"

Another sniffle, and then the shot to the gut: "I think he's dying."

* * *

**A/N:** Dun dun duuuuuuun! Have to give more thanks to phoenixdragondreams for helping me with some of the Zachariah and Ruby stuff at the last minute. And thanks to any and all who read. Again, I am truly sorry it took me so ridiculously long to update! The good news is that there are only two, possibly three chapters left of this fic. The bad news is that because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo next month, it'll be a bit of a wait before the next chapter. I can only hope and pray you'll keep your patience with me and will still be around to read! Please leave me a review if you have a moment and let me know what you think of the latest! ::HUGS::


	10. Done

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** ::Ducks frozen trout pitched in her direction:: Yeah, I know, it's been forever, but real life has made me its bitch for the last few months, and this difficult chapter did NOT HELP. I've been working on it for over 5 months, with countless rewrites and many nights of lost sleep as I tossed and turned, trying to think of a way to make it work. With the incredible and patient help of bevarshi, alcorandmizar, and bakura, it's finally, FINALLY right. I only hope it was worth the wait. Peacejojo was also kind enough to make some of her awesome manips for the story. You can see them in my profile. Off we go!

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Done.**

The last time Sam had felt this anxious was just as the clock struck midnight and Dean's deal came due. But at least that night he had known what was coming; it's the dread of the unknown that makes tonight so much worse. He has no idea what he'll find when he sees his brother again for the first time in over three months.

Tyler had said in his phone call that he feared Dean was dying. Unfortunately for a Winchester, "dying" can mean far too many things. Add in the Dean factor and the possibilities grow exponentially. Is he deathly ill or gravely injured? Is he suicidal, his inner demons finally dragging him so low that he wishes for death? Is he not eating or drinking or speaking or blinking? Has he gone missing, and Tyler is assuming the worst? Sam had wanted to press the kid for information, but he didn't—not when he knew he could spend that interrogation time in the Impala, driving to his brother's aide.

So off he went, determined to make the 11-hour drive from Singer Salvage to Carbondale, Illinois in nine or less. The Impala was all too happy to help, her engine purring louder than usual, invigorated by the fact that she'd finally be reunited with her Dean. The few times Sam had to coax the car back under the speed limit, she grumbled at him, and he apologized. Out loud. He wondered if he should be worried that he now treated her as a sentient being, just like Dean. He also wondered what it meant that the car seemed to handle better than ever for him now that he'd changed his tune about the not-so-Old Girl.

Now as Sam spots a cop and has to ease off the gas again, the car actually whines, like it's physically painful for her to put off seeing Dean any longer. As he opens his mouth to apologize again, a small hand appears to his right and soothes its fingers over the dash.

"It's okay," Tyler says. "We're almost there. Dean really missed you."

Sam bites his tongue so he doesn't ask what he's scared to know, but Tyler, always so perceptive, answers Sam anyway. "He missed you, too. He said he missed everybody, but he missed you the most." Sam nods his thanks, unable to speak due to the frog that had leaped into his throat. "'Course, that's while he was still talking to me," Tyler adds, sounding sad.

"Why'd he stop talking to you? Did you get in a fight?"

"No, he just stopped talking. I don't know what I did…"

Glancing at the kid sitting shotgun next to him, Sam finds the 10-year-old looking very small, knees drawn up to his chest, toes of his shoes sticking out over the edge of the bench seat. "I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong," Sam reassures him. "Dean adores you."

"He does still let me come see him," Tyler reasons, brightening a bit. "Nobody else though."

Sam thinks about what happened just minutes ago, when he'd arrived at Tyler's grandparents' country estate south of Carbondale. Just as Tyler had let him inside, both parents and grandparents greeted him and then accosted him with their worries about his big brother:

"He's not himself…"

"You HAVE to help him. He barely eats, never sleeps…"

"…only lets Tyler visit. We're so worried."

"Dean hasn't smiled or laughed in weeks, and now this!"

Sam couldn't get a word in edgewise until Tyler reappeared with his backpack and told him they had to get going. Dean was apparently holed up somewhere in, appropriately enough, Giant City State Park. Tyler's grandparents' extensive property shared a back border with the park, but the boy had insisted that they drive there instead of hiking. Now as they pull past a driveway marked as the Park Superintendent's residence, Tyler points up ahead.

"Turn left after the next curve."

Sam scans for a road but doesn't find one. "It's a service trail," Tyler fills in. "Slow down or you'll miss it."

The driver does as he's told and sure enough, the headlights shine on twin gravel pathways. Sam guides the Impala in as the thickening forest canopy blocks out the setting sun.

"I don't get it," Sam admits. "If you can walk to Dean, why are we driving there?"

"So he can see the Impala," Tyler shrugs. "She'll give Dean a reason to get out of the cave."

Sam's eyebrows reach for the sky. "My brother is living in a cave? Why?"

"We found it a while ago, while Dean was looking for a new place to train. It's a REALLY great cave. We explored all over, cos it's really deep, and one time, we had a campout there, and Dean taught me some constellations. It was cool."

Sam smiles, thinking back on the first time he and Dean had taken comfort in their wretched lives by looking up at the stars. It was a cold and clear winter's night, and they were hiding out in this crappy old cottage in Montana. Their dad had been gone on one of his 'business trips' for longer than he said he'd be, and Sam, only six, was missing his daddy and couldn't sleep. Dean hadn't been able to get him to settle down, so he got up, dressed Sam in his coat and mittens, and led him outside. Then he set a huge blanket out on the ground and told Sam to lie down on his back.

_But I'm cold, Dean!_

_I know, Sammy, but trust me, okay? You'll see a lot better if you're on your back._

Once Sam complied, Dean sat down next to him, and as he reclined, he rolled the rest of the blanket over them until they were wrapped up like a Winchester burrito. Only Dean's arms were free, and he pointed up at the night sky.

_See that, Sammy? That's the constellation Orion._

_What's a consulashun?_

_Con-STA-lation. It's a picture in the stars. Kinda like connecting the dots in your coloring book, only you use the stars instead. And that one there's really famous. That's Orion, the hunter._

Sam's little face had scrunched up as he tried to spot what his brother was pointing out. _Where? _he'd finally asked.

_Right there! Here, I'll show ya. _Burrowing in real close, he held his arm slightly over Sam's line of sight, still keeping his finger pointing upward. _You see those three really bright stars in a row?_

_Um…yeah! I see 'em!_

_Those make up Orion's belt, _Dean explained. _Now follow up from there, _he guided Sam's eyes with his index finger, _to that super bright star up there. That's Orion's armpit. You know what that one's called? _Sam shook his head no, and Dean answered with a grin, _Betelgeuse._

_Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! _Sam had cheered—the cartoon was a favorite of both of theirs at the time. Dean had then traced out the rest of the constellation, and when Sam saw the great hunter in the sky for himself, his tiny world of motels and long car rides ballooned into something huge…and beautiful.

_I wanna see more, Dean! Who else is up there?_

_Well let's see…ooh, how about Gemini, the twins? They're close by…um…yeah, right there. _Again, Dean guided Sam's sight up and to the left of Orion. _Brothers standing side by side, forever. _

Little Sammy had looked over at Dean and found the freckled face lit up by the moon and stars. _Dean?_

_Mm?_

_Can we be like Gemini?_

_Huh? We're not twins._

_Noooo. _Sammy kicked at Dean's foot. _Just…don't go away, like Dad. Say you'll stay and stand by my side, forever, like Gemini._

The green eyes turned to face Sam's hazels, sparkling with what the kid had thought was starlight at the time, but adult Sam now realizes were tears. _A-all right Sammy. I wasn't plannin' on goin' anywhere, y'know… _Dean kicked Sam's foot right back, signaling the end of the touching moment. _And don't kick me. _Sam naturally kicked him again, and Dean grinned. _Oh that's IT!_

"Sam? Did you hear me?"

Tyler's question brings Sam out of his memories, and he glances at the boy. "Sorry, what was the question?"

"How does Dean know so much about constellations and stuff?"

Sam smiles and replies, "You know what? I have no idea. I never asked him." _And I should have, _he thinks with a soft sigh. _And when I asked him to stay, I should've told him I'd stand by his side, too! But I didn't. I left, over and over, and when I WAS around, I stabbed him in the back instead of watching it! Fuck… _The whirlpool of guilt starts churning inside him, but he swims away for now; Dean needs him, and that is so much more important than his own issues. Sam looks back to the road and returns to the point of the conversation. "So how long has Dean been living in the cave?"

"A week—he was staying with me and my family before that. But that night, when he came back from his hunt—"

"Wait—Dean's been hunting?"

Tyler nods. "He was training all the time, too, sometimes for hunting stuff, and other times with his size powers. And he's really good with 'em now, but…" The kid fidgets with the zipper on his jacket, and Sam looks at him.

"But?"

The small hands drop in defeat. "Dean's always pushing himself too hard, and I don't know why. When I tried to get him to stop, he told me he had to keep going—that he didn't wanna get rusty." Tyler makes a face of frustration. "I don't think that's the real reason."

Sam sighs, not surprised and not happy. "You're right, Tyler. That was just Dean being Dean. But thanks for trying to get through to him." He looked at the boy and added, "I'm really glad you were around to take care of my brother."

Tyler smiled a little. "It woulda been better if you were here, or Bobby or Meesh. Are they coming here, too?"

"No. I told them I had to see Dean alone," Sam answers in a quiet voice.

"What about Castiel the angel?"

Sam gives him a half smile. "I haven't seen Cas in two months. No one has. I tried praying a few times, but he never showed up." _And I don't blame him, _he thinks but does not say. _After the shit I pulled, I wouldn't answer my prayer, either._

"Maybe he was super busy?" Tyler offers and smiles at Sam, but gets a headshake in return.

"He was probably just keeping his distance from me."

"Why? What happened?"

The surprise registers on Sam's features. "Dean didn't tell you?"

"Mm-nn, just said that he had to stay away from you—guys," Tyler adds after an awkward beat, "you guys. All of you guys." The boy avoids Sam's hurt gaze by pointing up ahead. "You can park over there. We'll have to walk the rest of the way to the cave, but it isn't far."

The Impala creeps up by a low, rocky hill and comes to a stop. Sam kills the lights and grabs his flashlight, while Tyler retrieves his own from his backpack. They are now deep within the forest, and the temperature has dropped significantly; Sam is glad he decided to wear his jacket. The boy leads the hunter forward, heading southeast from the front of the car. The terrain is rough, rocks and razor-sharp underbrush sticking out of the soil, and Sam mentally thanks Tyler for sparing the Impala's tires.

"So Dean's been living out here a week?" Sam asks.

"Yeah. He didn't go straight here from the hunt—he went to my Gramma and Grampa's house first. I stayed up late so I could see him, and he called me to let me know he was on his way back. But then when he got there he wasn't in a good mood like normal. He was sad. Really, really sad."

Sam frowns, not liking the sound of that at all. "Did he say anything? Did the hunt go badly or something?"

"No, the hunt went fine." Tyler stops and grabs his phone from his pocket, and he sifts through the pictures in his inbox until he comes to what he's looking for and then holds it up for Sam to see. It's a photo of Dean's boot resting on the chest of…something. Sam scrolls down and finds a caption that reads, 'DW 1, troll minus 1 head.'

_Dean was hunting a troll? _Sam shouts in his mind. Until now, trolls didn't exist outside of mythology, and yet here was picture proof of their existence. _And Dean just killed one, _Sam marvels on, looking at the beast in the photo much more closely. There's something clenched in its claws, and Sam zooms in to find a camping trailer—and a tiny one at that, at least compared to the fingers crushing it. The scale hits Sam like a smack to the face as he realizes just how big this thing was, and how big Dean had to be to defeat it. Sam is impressed, and more than a little envious; what a hunt that must have been! He could just see Dean's smirk as he posed with his huge boot over the fallen creature. _But Tyler said he was sad when he got back, _Sam recalls, and he looks down at the boy as he hands him his phone back. "I don't get it. If he was happy enough to send you that picture after the hunt, why was he so down when he got back to your place?"

"I don't know! I asked him over and over again, but he wouldn't tell me why. All he said was that he was going to live in the cave, cos that's where he belonged now. Then he packed up all his stuff and left." Tyler points to the hill they are approaching. "He's been in there ever since."

Ivy hangs over the mouth of a cave, and Tyler walks in while Sam ducks down to follow. He shines his flashlight all over the stone room but doesn't find any sign of humanity. "This is just the front door," Tyler explains, shining his own flashlight toward a small tunnel at the back. "Dean's in a way bigger cave. Come on."

The tunnel opens into a connecting cave and the ceiling vaults up as the floor tilts down, allowing Sam to stand up straight as he walks. Mini stalactites hang from the ceiling, and the echoed footsteps from the two spelunkers ricochet around the walls. Sam smiles—this IS a cool cave, and he can picture his brother's joy as he explored it. "Dean always wanted to be Indiana Jones," he confides to Tyler, "but he didn't want to learn all the archeology stuff that went with it. He just wanted to do the exploration and the cool action stuff. And I argued that he'd never get to GO on any of those expeditions without the archaeological expertise, so he said he'd bring me along: I'd be Dr. Henry Jones, and he'd be Indiana Jones, and it would be, as Dean put it, the most awesome thing ever." Sam chuckles at the memory. "Can't argue there."

Tyler stops and turns around. "But you guys ARE the most awesome thing ever! You're the Winchester brothers! You hunt ghosts and fight monsters! Indiana Jones only dreamed of doing stuff that cool!"

Sam smiles again, considering Tyler's vehement compliment. "We made a great team," he agrees, though his smile fades when he realizes he said "made," not "make."

"You'll be a team again," Tyler swears. "Deanzilla needs his Sasquatch Sam."

"I think Sasquatch Sam needs his Deanzilla even more," Sam replies softly.

"You better tell him that. He said you made your choice, and it wasn't him." Tyler drops his flashlight as his hands fly up to his mouth and clamp tight, but it's too late; the words are out, and Sam definitely heard him. But Tyler tries to cover it up anyway, picking up his flashlight and shining it ahead. "C'mon, we're almost there—"

Sam gently snags the kid by his shoulder when he tries to run off, and he turns him around to face him. Crouching down, Sam peers into Tyler's face, noting the shame at once. "Tyler, what aren't you telling me?"

Tyler bites his lower lip as his eyes search for an escape route. "I shouldn't…"

"Did Dean tell you not to tell me?"

"He doesn't even know you're here!" Tyler reminds him rather loudly, and they wait a few seconds for his voice to echo away.

"Well I am here," Sam says at length, "and I can't help Dean if I don't know the whole story." A tear escapes Tyler's eye, showing Sam just how conflicted the boy is by whatever he knows—and God how Sam can sympathize with that.

"I just don't want you to think he's bad!" Tyler whimpers, prompting more tears to flow. "I've told him he's good, over an' over, but he doesn't believe me!"

Sam pulls the kid into a hug, and Tyler fights it at first, but eventually breaks down and allows the comfort in. Sam squeezes his arms around the small, shaking frame, absorbing the pent-up frustration and fear. When Tyler finally pulls away, he scrubs the tears off of his red face, looking so much like Dean (in both gesture and defiance of his own feelings) that Sam has to study the cave floor a moment as he speaks: "I swear I won't judge you or Dean." Composure regained, he glances up at Tyler again. "I just want to help my brother."

Now Tyler looks to the floor to ground his trepidation. He takes a deep breath and the exposition begins. "Something happened about a month ago. I don't know what and I don't know why, but Dean started acting weird. Like, some days he'd train ALL DAY, not even stoppin' to eat. And other days, it was totally opposite, and he'd just sit around in the cabin, drinking beer and watching TV. Only he wasn't really watching…it was more like the TV was on, and he was just staring at it, cos he didn't know what else to do. Then he'd have one of his new nightmares and he'd be…" Tyler trails off when he sees Sam's stricken reaction to "new nightmares" information, and he nods. "Yeah, he wasn't screaming or crying at night anymore, like he usually did. Instead, he was yelling at someone to shut up and leave him alone. And whenever he had one of THOSE dreams, he'd get up the next day and do the crazy training thing. He'd run and weight lift and size shift and work out until one day, he passed out. Just…dropped on his back, right behind the house. Mom was so scared that she nearly called the ambulance, but Dean woke up in time and told her not to bother—that he wasn't worth the trouble." Tyler sighs through his nose. "Why's he always sayin' stuff like that, Sam?"

"I don't know," Sam utters, hating it just as much as Tyler. The Guilt Whirlpool is spinning again, energized by the awful news about his brother. _Dean's still having nightmares, and I wasn't there. And whatever's troubling him now was making him work himself to death? Jesus, Dean, what the HELL? _Sam shakes his head at his thoughts and then looks back to Tyler. "Okay, so what happened next?"

"Pretty much the same till a week ago and that troll hunt. Now he's stopped talking, and he stays big while he's in the cave. And I think that's bad, cos of the heart thing."

Sam's alarm bells ring through his ears. "Oh crap, he's having heart problems again?"

"No, no, I mean like that thing Meesh's son talked about…um…you know, where the bigger they are, the more mushy they get cos their hearts are so big?"

"Oh yeah, I remember now—Big Heart Syndrome."

"Yeah! Only now it's kinda reversed, cos he isn't wanting to hug everything. He's sad ALL the TIME." The kid blinks, looking very sad himself, and he adds in a very low voice, "Whatever happened after that hunt broke his big heart, and he doesn't wanna put it back together."

The kid's eyes lock onto the adult's, the words "It's all your fault" glared instead of spoken, before Tyler breaks his gaze and walks on, leaving the younger Winchester to fight the strong currents of the Guilt Whirlpool. If he was scared before, he's damn near terrified now, and only his hunter's instinct to chase what lurks in the dark forces his long legs on to follow Tyler through the rest of the cave.

"Did he say anything else?" Sam asks, dreading to know but needing to all the same. He gets shushed instead of answered, and Sam's flashlight finds Tyler at the end of the cave.

"We're here."

Sam looks around but only finds a rock wall, no big cave with his big brother inside. "We are?"

"Secret entrance—Dean's idea." Tyler reaches into a hole just slightly larger than his own arm, and moments later, Sam hears a clanking sound. "Doorbell made of cans on a string," Tyler explains. "MY idea."

The cave begins to shake as a curved crack of light emerges to their right. What looked like part of the natural wall is actually a big boulder, and something even bigger is pulling it loose from the other side. Tyler walks forward but motions for Sam to stay put. "Let me tell him you're here first," he whispers, and then he walks into the light. Sam listens in but doesn't look inside.

"Hey Dean! How are you?"

No answer at all.

"Anything good on TV?"

_TV?_ Sam wonders. _He has a TV down here?_

"Do you have a headache?" Tyler asks, and after a beat says, "You look really pale and your eyes are all squinty. You sure you're okay?"

Still no answer, but this time, Sam hears movement: clothes shifting with the limbs they cover. "You smell him, don't you," Tyler announces. Sam looks at his shirt, wondering for a moment if he stinks, but when the light from the inner cave vanishes, it makes him look up...and into a huge green eye where the boulder used to be. He jumps back, no longer used to Dean's sheer size with three months gone.

"Dean?"

The eye stares…then glares…then disappears. Sam walks into the cave and watches his 30-foot brother crawl back across the room, reaching the other side in just a few sweeps of his knees. He sits down in front of a large screen TV, though to Dean it's more like a laptop screen, and he rests his back against the cave wall and pretends to watch whatever is on the tube. Two sounds hit Sam's ears once his brother has settled down: the hum of a generator, and the rush of river water. He looks around for their sources and finds another connecting cave near the back. _Underground stream maybe? _he wonders as he takes a step forward—and almost slips off the ledge he didn't know he was on.

"Use the stairs," Tyler calls from below. Looking left, he discovers a hewn staircase created by large, flat stones sticking out the side of the ledge—Dean's doing, no doubt. Sam spies more of his brother's clever handiwork as he descends to the inner cave floor: big balls of tangled Christmas tree lights strung up along the stalactites as hanging lanterns, an entire magazine rack from some convenience store serving as, well, a magazine rack, and huge movie posters taped to the walls, giving the whole place a homey, basement feel.

_A man cave in a real cave_, Sam thinks with a little smirk, _complete with towers of empty pizza boxes and a floor of empty beer bottles. _He kicks one such bottle as he passes by, and it rattles into another. There are a lot of empty beer bottles in here. A LOT a lot. He frowns but otherwise keeps his disapproval to himself; he doesn't need to start a fight over this. _I'm sure we'll be arguing before long anyway—IF Dean even feels like speaking to me…_

Sam's eyes drift up to look at his brother, but he has his back to him, all attention on little Tyler at his feet. "Please don't hate me," the boy is whispering, though the cave amplifies the soft plea. "I just want you to be okay. So does Sam." The giant flinches at the name, making Sam flinch in turn. Tyler wraps his hand around Dean's pinky and tugs it, urging him to follow. "He drove all day to see you. Arencha even gonna say hi?" Nothing from Dean, not even a blink. Tyler sighs and looks at Sam as he steps up.

"It's okay," Sam tells both of them. "You warned me Dean was on radio silence. If Dean wants to watch," he glances at the TV, "Home Shopping Network instead of talking to me, that's fine. Weird, though…I mean, dude," now he points at the TV, "they're selling spritz cookie makers. You planning a tea party?" The attempt at levity fails when, as per the new usual, Dean does not respond, but Tyler sends Sam a smile for trying.

"My Gramma makes those," Tyler says, crawling onto Dean's right knee to watch TV with him. "Maybe she'll make some for us if I ask. I know how much you love cookies, Dean…"

The boy keeps talking, giving Sam a chance to move closer and give his brother a thorough once-over. Tyler was right: Dean is suffering in his silence. His skin is as grey as a tombstone, for crying out loud, warmed only by the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights. Though he hasn't lost any muscle mass, his sagging frame conveys weakness, like the cave's ceiling is crushing him, even though it's several heads higher than his own giant noggin. Sam moves around so he can get a better look into his brother's face and finds…no one. That glimpse of Dean he saw when the big eye spotted him is long gone; what sits before him now is, as Lennon and McCartney so succinctly put it, a Nowhere Man. No purpose. No drive. No identity. It's as if the he only exists because the two people in the room have yet to forget him. The sight breaks not only Sam's heart but his entire being.

"I did this to you," he thinks out loud, unable to keep the guilt inside any longer. "You left because of me, and now you're lost cos of me, too." Tears threaten to spill out with each word of culpability, to the point where Sam has to turn away and shut his eyes tight. "I shouldn't have come," he croaks. "I'm only making everything worse!"

A weight falls on his right shoulder, but not an unwelcome one; Sam finds an enormous fingertip there, offering careful comfort. His eyes track up the long arm and land on Dean's face. His eyes are on him, too, and they're focused…and concerned. They watch each other a few moments, no wordless conversations, and no emotional stares. Just two sets of eyes connecting two brothers who have been apart for far too long.

"Tyler," Sam says at length. "Think you could give us a few minutes?"

Tyler nods and, standing up on the giant's knee, looks at his hero. "I'll be right outside if you need me. I love you, Dean."

Dean curls his left hand around Tyler and hugs him to his belly before setting him on the floor. Then he ruffles the kid's hair with his finger, and Tyler swats him off, laughing. With a wave, he runs up the steps and out of the cave, leaving the Winchesters alone.

"I'm glad you've been with Tyler all this time," Sam tells Dean. "He's a great kid."

Dean nods and reaches toward the TV. His hand shrinks down so that his index finger is small enough to push the Power button on the console, and as the set shuts off, his hand grows back until it matches the rest of him. Sam lets out a "woah!" of amazement.

"He said you were good with your abilities, but that's incredible!" Sam waits for his brother's cocky grin to open up at the praise, but instead, Dean just shrugs and settles back against the wall. His knees rise up to his chest, and he rests his arms over them and folds his hands. Only then does he look down at Sam, sending so much world-weariness at his brother that Sam has to take a step back to keep from crumbling. Dean—the real Dean, Sam's Dean—is back from the void, but it's clear that he doesn't want to stay. That I'm So Tired look has been part of his brother's complexion for years now, but never to this degree. There is no hope in those great green irises—none.

"What happened, Dean?" Sam asks in near whisper. To his surprise, Dean answers him:

"Nothing." It's rasped out, voice rough from not being used, and Dean has to cough before he can continue. "Nothing happened," he follows up. "Nothing's changed. That's the problem."

"Nothing's—wait. Do you mean me?" Sam's question makes Dean look away, and Sam frowns. "I HAVE changed!"

"Clothes, maybe," Dean mutters. "Where is she? Waiting out in the car?"

"Who?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Ruby. Who else?"

"Ruby isn't here, Dean."

"So she's back at the hotel."

"What? No! She isn't anywhere. I told her to leave me alone!"

"Until you need your next fix," Dean grunts, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "I get it."

Sam blows out a sigh but stands his ground. "I don't do that anymore."

"Bullshit!" Dean leans forward until his face is right above Sam. "I saw you with her one week ago. I saw her feed you!"

Tyler's words speak up from Sam's recent memory: _"Whatever happened after that hunt broke his big heart, and he doesn't wanna put it back together."_ Sam's mind reels as all the pieces fall into place. Ruby. The demon blood. Dean saying Sam made his choice. "The motel," Sam breathes. "You were there that night?"

Dean nods. "I was big cos I just killed a troll and I was walking back here, using the highway to guide me. And what did I hear coming down the road but the sweetest sound in the world: my baby's engine." He smiles as he remembers. "You zoomed by, and I thought hey, what the hell, let's see how Sammy's doing."

_Sammy!_ Sam thinks with joy, only now realizing just how much he missed the nickname. He catches a glimpse of fondness on Dean's face, too, before the giant gets back to the story. "I followed you to the motel…gave you a few minutes to get your hair up in your curlers, and then I crept around the building and looked in your window." His face grows fierce, and he hisses, "That's when I saw you and Ruby. She was feeding you blood—"

"NO! Dean—"

"—and that's when I realized that nothing had changed. Fuck…I thought for sure you would've at least TRIED to quit the stuff…" He thumps his back against the wall, making the cavern shake, and he lets out a short, bitter laugh. "Guess that's what I get for getting my hopes up, huh."

"I DID quit," Sam states. "And if you would've stuck around that night for two more seconds, you would've seen me spit the blood back in her face!"

Dean's face clouds, and he drops his gaze. "You're still lying to me, too."

"I am NOT lying! Smell me!"

"Whuh?"

"Your sense of smell is much stronger when you're big, right? So take a sniff and tell me if I still smell like blood." Sam holds his arms out to either side and shuts his eyes. "I'm waiting…" He holds still for a while, and just as he's about to give up, he hears a loud intake of air at the exact same time something—the tip of Dean's nose, he guesses—nudges his chest. Sam allows Dean a moment to move off again before opening his eyes. "Well? Still think I'm a liar?"

"I think you don't smell like blood," Dean allows. "Jury's still out on the rest."

Sam nods, understanding now just how easy this isn't going to be. "That night was the first time I'd seen Ruby since you left. And when she tried to tempt me again, I told her to fuck off. I worked so hard to get clean…spent two WEEKS in the panic room detoxing, and then another two just getting my head screwed on straight. After that I started hunting again, almost nonstop. And when I wasn't hunting, I was out looking for you."

"And now you found me, which means I gotta find a new hideout." Dean pouts as he looks around the cave. "And just when I got the lighting the way I wanted it. Figures."

"But you don't have to hide anymore." Sam smiles up at his brother. "You can come back to Bobby's now. Back home…where you belong."

Dean chuckles and shakes his head no. "Where I belong. Good one."

"I…wasn't joking."

"It's comfy here." Dean holds out his arms to present the room. "A lot better than the rat-infested crapholes we've stayed in, right? No rats, for one."

"Dean…"

"Actually, make that two—it's so great, it's worth two points."

"Dean!" Hazel eyes lock onto green ones. "What are you saying?" Hazel eyes widen as green eyes drop.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean mumbles. "I'm done, Sam."

Sam can practically hear the clank of heavy armor hitting the floor as the spoken words disarm his heroic brother. "Done? With what?"

Dean shrugs and quotes Brando: "Whaddya got?"

To say Sam is floored is the understatement of the year. He'd expected anger from his brother—vitriol, even, but this? He never, ever thought he'd see the day Dean Winchester gave up, much less gave IN, and he peers up into that big face with a good amount of fear. "You can't be serious!"

"As a heart attack," Dean murmurs.

"But the seals…the Apocalypse! The world is gonna end!"

"Then LET IT END!" The booming voice rumbles through the cave, causing the walls to shake again. A small stalactite breaks loose from the ceiling and crashes down on Dean's shoulder. He doesn't twitch, doesn't brush it off, doesn't even look at it. His eyes are going vacant again, staring at some random patch of floor behind the little man at his feet. Sam realizes he's losing him and kicks Dean in the shin. Focus and ferocity are back in the big greens at once. "OW! What the hell?"

"That's my question! What the HELL, Dean? You can't just be done!"

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

"Me, for one." Sam gets laughed at for that, but it's filled with so much hurt, Dean might as well be crying. He starts to argue another point, but Dean glares at him.

"Save it. There's nothing you or anyone can say at this point to change my mind. You made your choice…I made mine. All that's left to do is make like Artax and sink into the Swamps of Sadness." Dean notes Sam's confusion. "_The Neverending Story?_ Artax, the horse, when he sinks? That scene always made me cry. Still does. But I get it now." He nods at his own words as he speaks. "I get why he just couldn't follow Atreyu anymore: he saw the truth. He was born a work horse, and he'd die a workhorse, slogging through the stinking muck on this impossible quest. What was the point?" Sam still seems befuddled, so Dean sighs, "Fine, want a more recent reference? How about Frodo falling at the foot of Mount Doom? When the burden he'd carried all that way finally got to him and cost him…everything? Didn't even leave him with one happy memory—somehow, the bad guys got that, too. He couldn't go on. It was all too much."

"Frodo had Sam."

Dean looks up at the uttered statement and finds Sam a bit bashful, but still standing his ground. "When Frodo just couldn't go on," Sam continues, "when he'd used up his absolute last ounce of strength, Sam carried him the rest of the way. He knew Frodo didn't want to give up, and he wasn't about to give up on Frodo, either, so since he couldn't take his broth—_friend's_ burden from him, he carried Frodo himself."

One of the giant eyebrows quirks up as Dean leans forward. "You really think you could carry me?"

"W-well, not like you are now, obviously, but if you shrank down to normal—"

"Then what? I get out, and it's back to fighting to keep the world around for one more pointless day. Back to demon bitches and dick angels, back to the lies, the secrets, the damn expectations, back to being kicked around, left behind, back to giving…EVERYTHING…and never, ever giving enough." He looks at Sam with a ghost of a smile. "You really want to escort me back to all that, Sammy?"

Sam swallows hard but doesn't answer. He can't. Dean seems relieved at the silence, and he settles back against the cave's wall with a sigh of contentment. Sam frowns and asks, "Do YOU really expect me to walk away and leave you here?"

"It's never stopped you before," Dean answers coolly. "Only difference now is that I'm in a cave instead of a motel room." Sam plunges back into the Guilt Whirlpool, and when he looks up at Dean to pull him out, he isn't surprised to find a stone wall instead of a life line. "I always knew you'd choose her," Dean murmurs. "I'd lie to myself all the time just to keep going, but deep down, I knew you'd already made your choice, and it wasn't me. And I don't blame you, Sammy. Hell, I wouldn't pick me either."

All Sam can do with his brother's confession is slowly shake his head back and forth to deny it. As much as he wants to argue that he did not pick Ruby, he also—selfishly, and he knows it—craves comfort from his big brother to combat all of the hurt inside him. But he won't allow it: said hurt is from being the cause of putting Dean in this cave in the first place. The last thing he can do is ask Dean to give up even more, especially for him! So Sam summons up what's left of his inner strength before turning his eyes up to Dean yet again. Dean, to his credit, looks upset; that's SO much better than defeated, and Sam will take what he can get right now.

"I never wanted this," Sam tells him.

"Well that makes two of us."

"I can't just leave you in another hole in the ground, Dean! You're not dead…you're not even dying, but if I go out there without you, I'll…!" He trails off, emotion getting the better of him, and Dean shifts, uncomfortable and worried. Sam regains his composure and speaks in a low voice: "I won't make it. I am not strong enough to walk away from your grave again. I can't go back out there alone."

Dean puts a finger on his little brother's shoulder and replies, "Yes, you can."

"Well, I don't want to," Sam says, echoing Dean's words from so long ago. Dean's face softens as he remembers, too.

"You don't need me, Sammy. You haven't for a long time. You're strong, you're smart—"

"No, I'm not." Sam laughs at the very idea. "God, Dean, I'm not. The demon blood made me think I was, but it was just filling the void you left behind."

Dean snorts. "Careful, Sam, we're heading into Very Special Episode territory."

"I'm serious, Dean. I have wasted…SO much time thinking I know better than everyone, and where did it get me? I nearly lost you. Again! The truth is I'm only strong when you've got my back. I'm only smart when you're there encouraging me. You put me up on this pedestal, when you should be looking down at me from YOUR pedestal. It's higher than anybody's!" Dean starts to pull away, so Sam claps his hand over the big fingernail. "If I go out there alone, I'll be done, too," Sam tells him. The corner of his lips curls up and he adds, "Besides, your car will run me over if I show up without you.

"Baby's here?" Dean asks, perking up a little.

"She misses you," Sam nods, "almost as much as I do." Dean sighs, breaking contact with Sam and leaning back once more. Sam in turn fights a grin: that particular Dean sigh only comes out when he's getting through to him. "I don't want to drive back alone," Sam goes on, "I want to ride shotgun and yell at you to turn the AC/DC down, and then glare at you when you turn the volume up another notch. I want to stop at Biggerson's and wince when you order extra onions. I want to get back to Bobby's, Rock-Paper-Scissors for dibs on the TV remote, and smile in triumph when you pick scissors for the billionth time!"

"I might pick paper…"

"You WON'T pick paper." Sam smiles as Dean sulks. "I may not have much of a life, Dean, but it's so much better with you in it. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to appreciate what I've got, and all that you've given me. I guess you really do have to hit rock bottom before you realize what you've done and what you need." Walking forward, Sam reaches out and puts his hand on the huge knee. "And I need my big brother—more than ever."

Dean looks at Sam and finds his brother looking back with the kind of faith Dean hasn't seen since before his time in Hell. He licks his lips, struggling to come up with the right sarcastic remark to scatter all the damn feelings from the room, but he can't. That big heart of his wants to climb out of his throat, jump out his mouth, and starfish Sam, and it takes several coughs and swallows to get the mushy organ back down where it belongs.

Sam in turn can tell that Dean is beset by his little brother's admission, so he bumps his fist against the big kneecap in manly support and takes a step back. Dean runs a hand through his hair, clears his throat, hunches over, bobs his head a few times…anything he can think of to delay what he has to say. When he finally looks up, Sam, fully tuned in to Dean FM, knows at once what his answer will be. Face and heart plummeting, he shakes his head no. Dean, sadly, gives a slight nod.

"Sorry, Sammy," he whispers. Sam's head shaking gets more vigorous, like he's trying to ward off any further hurt with wind power. Dean finally reaches out and cups a hand around him to still the movement. "Don't break your neck over this. I'm not worth it."

"Stop SAYING shit like that!" Sam yells, pushing free of the gigantic hold. "You are too fucking worth it, Dean!"

"Then why don't you ever treat me like it?" Dean roars back. More stalactites shake loose from the ceiling as the cave shimmies, but this time Dean smashes them all away mid-drop with a sweep of his hand. They hit the far wall like darts against a board. Sam untangles his protecting arms from his head and chances a look up at his fuming brother, watching the huge chest heaving in and out with a lifetime of pent-up frustration. His face, however, is a different story, eyes wide and shocked; he's just as surprised at his outburst as his brother. But he recovers soon enough and pushes Sam toward the stairs.

"Go. Now."

"No!" Sam jumps to the side and then ducks and fakes right when Dean tries to grab him. "I won't leave you here!" Sam shouts.

"You have to, I'm not going anywhere."

"Then I'm staying!"

"I don't WANT you to stay!" Dean grouses. He reaches for Sam, but his little brother dodges him, and Dean slams his fist into the floor. "Dammit, Sam, leave me alone!"

"Not gonna happen," Sam promises. Dean's head rolls back in aggravation while Sam folds his arms across his chest. He waits for Dean to look back before he asks, "So now what?"

"Now," a third voice answers from behind, "it's time for Plan B." Sam and Dean find a man in a dark, expensive suit descending down the stairs into the cave.

"Zachariah," Dean seethes, and Sam glances up at Dean again.

"You know him?"

"I'm Castiel's superior," Zachariah replies, walking up to them both. "And you are Sam Winchester, Boy Wonder." He extends his hand to the younger brother, but Sam doesn't take it. Zachariah brings it back to his side with a flippant flourish and looks upon Dean. "Nice to see you in person at long last, Dean. Invading your dreams every night was getting to be a chore."

Sam remembers what Tyler told him about Dean's new nightmares and glares at the angel with disgust, but Zachariah takes no notice, smiling at Dean as he looks him over. "I hear you've finally thrown in the towel." The angel chuckles at the giant. "It's about time; watching you fail over and over was getting embarrassing. Talk about the Little Engine That Couldn't…"

Dean shrinks back to normal at once and gets to his feet, glowering at the unimpressed look on Zachariah's face. "How did you find me?"

"Your little friend Tyler got spooked by the mini earthquakes coming out of the cave, and he sent up a prayer to Castiel to help you. Since Castiel is…unavailable at the moment—"

"Unavailable how, exactly?" Dean asks.

"—I came in his stead, introduced myself—"

"What did you do to Cas?" Dean demands, and Zachariah pauses to glare a moment.

"Will you please stop interrupting me?" The angel waits a moment to ensure he has Dean's silence and then goes on. "Castiel is in detention. Yes, he is fine, and no, he will not be released. Not until he admits that questioning Our Father's great plan was wrong." He smiles at the cold stare Dean aims at him. "Don't give me that. It's your influence that got him locked up in the first place. You want to be mad at someone, Dean, just look in the mirror. You have a bad habit of ruining lives by being in theirs."

Zachariah snaps his fingers, and two younger angels come in, dragging a struggling Anna with them. Her pearlesque skin is covered in bruises, and her fiery hair has been yanked out in several places. They cast her down at Zachariah's feet, and Dean rushes forward and kneels down to help her back up.

"You okay?" he asks, brushing long, red tendrils out of her face. She takes one look at him and her lower lip starts to tremble. If not for the angelic grace, her cheeks would be covered in tears.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," she whispers. "I stayed hidden but they still found me—"

Dean brings her into his arms. "It's all right. They found me, too. Can't hide from the Paparazzi anywhere." Anna laughs once, grateful but still miserable. Then Zachariah snaps his fingers again and the two cronies pry the friends apart.

"Remove your mark," Zachariah orders her. Anna gives Dean another look of apology and then holds her fingers in the air above the Enochian symbols covering Castiel's handprint. A warm glow emanates from the symbols, and they lift off of Dean's skin like flaking paint and vanish back into her fingertips. The cronies seize Anna again, and white light erupts around them all, forcing Dean and Sam to look away. When it dies down, they find Anna gone.

"What's going to happen to her?" Dean asks, and Zachariah shrugs.

"Anna's been taken back to boot camp for some discipline. A little reprogramming here, some torture there, and she'll be back in the ranks, fighting the good fight." He sees Dean fume at the news, and he smirks. "Like I said, Dean, you ruin the lives of everyone you know. Just ask Sammy here, he knows what I'm talking about."

"It's Sam, and you can stop putting words in my mouth. My brother doesn't ruin lives, he saves them."

"Once upon a time maybe," Zachariah concedes, "but nowadays, he'd rather wallow in this Home Sweet Hole than face another day being Dean Winchester."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Just ask me to be your Champion so I can say no for the bajillionth time and we can get on with our lives."

Zachariah laughs. "Who said I was here to talk to YOU, Dean? You're yesterday's news. Today," he spins around to face Sam, "is all about Sammy."

"Again, it's SAM," Sam snits. "And I don't give a rat's ass about anything you have to say."

"Not even if I could tell you that I know where Lilith is right this second?" The corporate smile returns when he gets their full attention. "She's out east, preparing to break the last seal."

"There's only one seal left?" Sam yells, incredulous. He looks at Dean, who is shaking his head in disgust.

"65 turnovers in one friggin' season…wow. I think you need to talk to Team Angel about why dropping the ball is BAD, Coach."

"You think this is funny?" Zachariah snaps. "Your world will end at midnight tonight, mere hours from now, and you're making jokes."

"And you're standing here telling us about the seal instead of doing something about it!" Dean shoots back. "If you know where she is, why the hell aren't you over there stopping her?"

"Because we can't; Lilith is too strong. So is the last seal, for that matter—that's why she's the only one who can break it."

"So stop Lilith and the seal never breaks," Sam muses.

"The world keeps on turning," the angel confirms, "and we crack open a few bottles of the best bubbly to celebrate."

Dean is dubious, to say the least. "Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that," Zachariah smiles, and he looks away from Dean and over to Sam. "All we need is the right tool for the job."

"Riiiight, SAM'S the tool in this scenario." Dean rolls his eyes.

"Are you saying you don't think your brother can do this?"

"No, I'm saying you're a tool, ya tool." Dean nearly rolls his eyes again, but when he catches a flash of doubt on Sam's face, he turns to his little brother. "I KNOW you can do this, Sam. I just don't want you to."

Zachariah scoffs. "You don't have a say in this anymore, Dean."

"Trust me, Chuckles, I've got PLENTY to say. And I'm just getting started."

"God chose you out of everyone else on the planet, but instead of embracing your destiny, you gave it the middle finger! Why my Father hasn't struck you down for your sheer insolence is beyond me."

"Yeah, well right back 'atcha, douchebag! This isn't about destiny—you're just crabby cos you're not getting your way! You don't give a damn about me OR Sam. You just want to use us so you don't have to get your manicured hands dirty."

"Now see here you insignificant pinprick—"

"Oh I'M the prick?"

"GUYS!" Sam yells, putting his large frame between them. "We don't have time for this." He turns to Zachariah. "How do we stop Lilith?"

"There is no 'we,' Sam, just you. You are the only one who can. Those special…talents of yours hold the key to everything."

"You are unbelievable," Dean seethes. "All year, you angels have been telling me to stop Sam from using his powers—that he was getting too powerful, too dangerous. And now you're the captain of his cheerleading squad?"

"Well since our quarterback is sitting out on the championship game," Zachariah throws back, "our back-up man has to save the day."

Dean doesn't buy it. "No, no. Something stinks here, and it's not just your douchey aftershave." He points at the angel with his thumb and looks to Sam. "He's been after me for a month to do this, and out of the blue, YOU'RE his Go-To Guy? He isn't even trying to talk me out of this cave, but he won't shut up about you going instead! Why the about, face?"

"You've left us with no other choice, Dean," Zachariah says, growing impatient. "You're the one who quit. You're forcing your brother into doing what you refuse to!"

"Why did you wait till the last minute to offer me the job?" Sam speaks up, catching a whiff of the same stench. "It's not like I was hard to find. You could have talked to me anytime at all, but you waited till practically the last minute. Why?"

"Because we were hoping Dean would man-up and do the right thing!"

"I AM doing the right thing," Dean insists. "Not doing what you say is definitely the right call. Same goes for Sam."

Zachariah pinches the area between his eyes. "If Sam doesn't kill Lilith, no one will."

"But I don't even know if I can," Sam argues. "I haven't used my powers for months. Not since Dean left."

"You mean since you nearly killed him." The pain that registers on both brothers' faces makes it plain that this is still a raw issue for them. Zachariah takes full advantage of it. "Let's revisit that, shall we?"

He snaps his fingers, and a series of loud _CRACK!_s cut through the air. Dean doubles over, clutching his chest as blood pools on his shirt. Sam moves to run forward, but Zachariah grabs his shoulder and holds him back. Looking at him, the angel begins, "Would you like to know what Dean was dreaming about nearly every time I visited him? You, Sam. This. Crushing him…leaving him behind…sometimes one after the other."

Dean opens his mouth, but only a wheeze escapes. "What's that, Dean?" Zachariah mocks. "Cat got your tongue? Good. Let's hope he keeps it..." Tears spill out of Dean's scrunched-shut eyes, and the angel sniffs in derision. "Take a good, long look at what's left of your brother, Sammy. The once-mighty Dean Winchester, Heaven's very own Chosen One, crying like a little girl in a grave of his own design. Pathetic." Another sharp _CRACK! _pelts out, and Dean drops to his knees in agony.

"Stop it!" Sam both begs and demands.

"Stop what? The damage is already done: YOU did this to him, not me. Alistair had to torture him for 30 years in Hell before he broke, but a squeeze and some choice words and from you, and he was finished." He snaps his fingers again, and Sam's voice echoes around the cave, torn from the brothers' memories:

"_I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm strong. I'm fucking powerful. YOU'RE the one who's weak."_

"_I'm the one doing all the work, protecting the world and saving your pathetic, overbearing, righteous ass every time you fuck up. You don't deserve my help, that's for sure, but what can I do? You're my BROTHER, right?"_

"_At least I didn't torture souls for ten years. At least I didn't jumpstart the Apocalypse! And if you think I'm EVER gonna forgive you for what you did, you are DEAD wrong."_

"_Shut up, stay out of my way, and let me work. And if you don't like the way I'm handling things, then maybe you should've just stayed in Hell."_

Zachariah whistles as the last statement fades into the background. "I'm impressed, Sam: that little tirade of yours hit every last note on Dean's personal Pain Scale. Honestly, you could've left out the crushing completely and just let the words do all the damage." His smile curls into a smirk. "But you do have a sadistic side, doncha Sammy boy?"

Another finger snap and another one of Dean's ribs snaps, too. Sam's entire body jolts at the sound. Zachariah claps Sam on the shoulder and stands next to him. "It's a pity you weren't in Hell instead of Dean. Alistair would've adopted you as his new favorite for sure."

Dean lets out a strangled cry, pained as much by what Zachariah is saying to Sam as what he's inflicting on Dean himself. His little brother is beside himself with shame, head ducked low so Dean won't see him, but he sees him anyway—always has, always will. His eyes are blinking rapidly, fighting tears. His back is hunched way over, like he's trying to fit into a hiding place two sizes too small. He's biting his lip and counting his shoe laces. He feels shame and wants comfort, but doesn't think he deserves it, so he tries to hide in plain sight. It's the same posturing Dean has seen countless times in his Sammy all these years, and it always means one thing: Sam needs him. Best of all, it's genuine: no lies to cover up other lies, no phoning it in just to make Dean feel better, just little bro needing big bro to be his hero again. Now if big bro could only answer!

_C'mon, Dean, DO something, _he coaches himself, but his body just sits there, unable to stand up, much less punch that dick angel in the mouth. His size starts to fluctuate, the control he worked so hard to build crumbling under the combined weight of helplessness and agony. His head hits the ceiling, and just as Zachariah looks over, he shrinks down to a foot, only to grow and expand again, over and over, just like he had done so long ago at Bobby's house. The frustration burns even hotter than the pain, fueling the size shifting to greater speed and extremes.

"Having fun yet, Dean?" Zachariah asks with a grin.

Dean forces air through his aching lungs just so he can grind out two words in answer: "Eat…me."

"I'll pass, thanks. Now how 'bout it? You two ready to cooperate, or do I have to get rough?"

Sam pushes away from the angel and glares at him anew. "That's some work ethic you've got. Whatever happened to saying 'please'?"

"Oh we're way past pleasantries. I was never Mr. Nice Guy to begin with, and if we didn't need a Champion to defeat Lilith, I would have struck down both of you the very second you dared to speak back to me. You are clinging to a very, and I mean VERY, fine thread of patience, gentleman. Do. Not. Push me." The angel looks at the brothers in turn, all stone-cold business, and the shadows of his invisible wings flex with menace on the far wall of the cave. The Winchesters keep their mouths shut for a change, and Zachariah gives them a small nod of thanks for it before setting his gaze on Sam. "Now what's it going to be, Sam? Yes or no?"

Sam looks up at Dean, still in pain as his broken ribs expand and shrink with him, and knows he has no choice. "I'll go."

Zachariah is all smiles again. "Excellent! I'll make the arrangements—"

"But only if you heal Dean so he can go with me."

"Done." The angel snaps his fingers, and instantly, Dean's ribs are back in place. Free of pain, he shrinks back to normal, looking himself over as he descends; only the bloodstains on his shirt give any evidence that he was ever out of sorts in the first place. But just as he's about to take his first step toward Sam, Zachariah waggles his index finger. "Ah-ah-ah. I may have healed you, Dean, but I'm not about to let you screw up our only shot at stopping Lilith. You're staying right here." Pointing his finger at the ceiling, Zachariah pulls his thumb down like he's shooting a gun, and a huge crack snakes across the ceiling. With a roar, it gives way, and part of the hill above the cave crashes in, trapping Dean behind a thick wall of earthen debris. Sam is already scrabbling at the rocks and dirt before the dust has settled, calling Dean's name as he works in vain to free him, but Zachariah pulls him away.

"Save your energy, Sam," he coaxes. "You don't have time to dig your way in, and besides, Dean's just fine, I promise."

Sam shoves him off. "You promise," he repeats flatly. "Why don't I believe you?"

Zachariah gives an exaggerated shrug. "I didn't HAVE to keep him safe…"

"You didn't have to bury him, either!" Sam yells. "Now free my brother or—"

"Or WHAT, Sam? Hmm? What are you going to do to me, exactly? I'm a high-ranking angel, you're a human with a taste for demon blood. I'd say 'bring it on,' but you've got nothing to bring." Sam's face sours at the truth, and it makes Zachariah smile in triumph.

_THUMP THUMP THUMP!_

The low sounds are coming from the other side of the new wall, and several pebbles fall loose from their positions. Zachariah turns to the cave-in site and raps his knuckles against a boulder. "It's no use, Dean. If you didn't want to be locked away for safe keeping, you shouldn't have quit on us in the first place!" The thumps sound out again, each one louder and more powerful than the last, as Dean tries to pound his way to freedom, but the angel pats the rock like he's consoling a fussy child. "Now, now, don't waste your air. Sam's already long gone."

"No I'm not—!"

Zachariah snaps his fingers, and Sam disappears with the third word out of his mouth. "Off to play his part," Zachariah continues, "and do what he was born to do. Just as you will do, when the time comes."

The entire cave quakes as parts of the cave-in wall bulge out; the angel just laughs. "Temper, temper, Dean. Remember that your little friend Tyler is still out there. Do you really want to chance hurting him during your break-out attempt?" A medium-sized boulder rolls free just as the shaking dies out, so Zachariah flies up and looks in. Dean has grown large enough to encompass the enclosed space, and when the angel taps him on the exposed shoulder, the giant shifts until a big, angry green eye is glaring right back.

"It doesn't matter how big you get," Zachariah says. "Our cause will always be bigger than you. It has taken millennia to get here, but we are FINALLY getting our Apocalypse." The big eye widens at the news and Zachariah beams. "That's right, we WANT the Apocalypse. We've wanted it for centuries! Well…Upper Management's wanted it; the peons, like your friend Castiel, had no idea. They worked so HARD, trying to stop seals we'd already given the okay to fall. I almost feel sorry for them. But hey," he snickers, "business is business. And tonight, our great Takeover begins."

"Sam will stop you," Dean states.

Zachariah is pure, hoity-toity snob as he replies, "No, he won't. Sam's job is to get the ball rolling, and roll, I assure you, it will." He puffs out a quick sigh and adds, "Too bad he won't live long enough to enjoy the results…."

The earthquakes start in again at once. Dean's fist punches through the hole, but Zachariah easily evades him. "A temper tantrum, Dean? Honestly. It's almost as pointless as you are." The fist slams out again, ensnaring the angel in its huge digits a moment before he teleports away. Out of reach, Zachariah brushes himself off and looks back at the wall. "We control this chessboard!" he yells. "You and Sam are just pieces. We'll use you and, if needed, we'll sacrifice you, too. We'll sacrifice everybody if we have to! As many as it takes until we win."

"You SON of a BITCH!"

Zachariah shoots a bolt of lightning into the small cage, relishing the cries as Dean is struck down to tiny size. Peering in through one of the newly made holes, he clicks his tongue at the pathetic sight before him. The wee form has jumped to his feet and is staring all the way up at him in defiance.

"I won't let you do this," Dean announces. "You hear me, asshole? You will NOT get away with this!"

Zachariah rolls his eyes. "That old cliché? Dean, Dean, Dean. Of course we'll get away with it—we already have!" Dean's six-inch body starts pounding at the rock wall, and it prompts the angel to laugh again. "Rage all you want, but it won't change anything. It's too late, and you're…well, you're not enough of a man OR a hero to do anything about it. You don't measure up, Dean. It's about time you stop trying." With that, Zachariah straightens his tie and stands back. "See you when the End is past nigh…"

He disappears, leaving Dean alone in the darkness…and fuming. His little body stands rigid, teeth bared as he plays over the latest stab in the back courtesy of the dicks with wings. _They LET the seals fall!_ he thinks in outrage._ They WANT the Apocalypse!_ _Using us like we're Red Shirts on the Away Team. Those fucking BASTARDS! _

Dean breathes hot air in and out of his nostrils and knows that his very short-lived retirement is over. Five minutes ago, he thought he was done with hunting and heroics and being lied to and treated like he's nothing. Now he knows he's ready to go back to the first two—and he's super, mega, ULTRA done with the last two.

"Don't measure up, huh?" he asks, feeling his body expanding at a rapid pace. "Nothing I can do about it, huh?" His head hits the ceiling, and he grins. "WATCH ME!"

The cave quakes violently as Dean surges upward, destroying his sweet hideout as he grows to freedom. To Tyler, who is watching from a safe distance, the already sinking hill now drops out of sight, only to reappear again seconds later, bulging up and out. With great burst of dirt and noise, a hand the width a barn reaches straight up, demolishing the greenery as it comes through the ground. Tall trees fall over as the earth continues to transform. The hand presses flat as a huge elbow appears, and soon, a massive head of spikey hair follows. A humongous mouth opens up to breathe in, and as the colossus keeps rising out of the ground, the shadow he casts on the world grows and darkens. Finally, the titan climbs out of the hole, his body a silhouette against the sunset. He brushes off his clothes, looks around, and laughs.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCHES?"

Instead of a worded answer, Dean hears a tiny squeal. Looking down, he sees a half-inch-high Tyler running toward him from the woods. Dean kneels down and catches the kid just as Tyler flings himself at Dean's outstretched hand. "Whoa! Easy there, Ty-Guy!"

Tyler just hugs the life out of the big thumb. "DEAN! You're talking, you're out, you're OKAY!"

"Yup, yup, and mostly yup," Dean smiles. "I've got a lot of work to do before I'm okay."

"Where's Sam?"

"Zachariah sent him away. I gotta go find him."

"I know I shouldn't say this about angels, but he was a jerk," Tyler says, and it makes Dean laugh.

"That's being way too nice to him." Dean stands up, cupping one hand over the other to keep Tyler safe. "Hokay. First, you gotta point me in Baby's direction. Second, I gotta walk the two of you back to the house. And then, I'm gonna find Zachariah and give him a five-fingered piece of my mind. Sound good?"

"Sounds great!" Tyler stands up tall on the big palm and points off to the side. "To Baby!"

"To Baby!" Dean repeats with a grin. He takes his first gigantic stride, feeling nothing but confidence in his simple, three-step plan. So the world's ending at midnight. So what? That's just a Thursday to a Winchester. _And just like all the other motherfuckers that have tried to take this planet away from us, I'll be all too happy to remind them: this is OUR planet. Team Humanity. Keep off the grass, stay out of the water, and no trespassing on our property! _

Dean turns up the AC/DC playing in his brain and walks on, tall and proud and so ready to fight for his right to keep being awesome.

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A/N: Additional: So? Was it worth the wait? Did you like it/hate it/meh it? Let me hear it! I live for feedback, and reviews are love :)


	11. Give a Hoot, Don't Dispute

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Thank you so very much for the reviews and the support and well-wishes! They mean more to me than you could ever know. Sorry to use a cliché there, but it's the truth. ::HUGS to all:: And infinity-thanks to peacejojo for making more pics for this chapter! You can see them in my profile, IF the site isn't being weird… Otherwise you can see them on my LJ entry for this story.

There are only one to two chapters left in this story. It all depends on how long next chapter's climax turns out to be. If it's very long, then another chapter will follow, but if it's short, then I'll put the epilogue right after. Simple :) Till then, here's a super-long chapter for ya: 36 pages! Lotta talking in this one, so I hope it doesn't get boring…

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**Chapter Eleven: Give a Hoot, Don't Dispute**

Dean is hugging his Baby. He can't help himself: It's been so LONG since he's seen his best girl, so when he spotted her on the forest floor, illuminated by the last golden rays of sunset beaming through the trees, he shrunk down to 50' just so he could pick her up and full-on bear-hug her. Carefully, of course—last thing he wanted to do was dent a fender. Now the car is purring right back, and Tyler, watching on from his perch on Dean's left shoulder, is beaming with happiness. He wouldn't dare make fun of the situation—not when he knows just how much these two mean to each other. He's just happy Dean is happy again and hopes that it lasts.

With a quick smooch on her roof (and a gentle rubbing off with his shirt sleeve of any lip marks), Dean sets the car back down and settles into a crouch next to her. He soothes his fingers over her hood like she's got head full of long, soft hair. "Isn't she the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?" he asks Tyler.

"She sure is. Does she have a sister?"

Dean laughs and holds up his index finger for a high-five, which Tyler readily gives. "Sorry, Ty-guy, but she's one of a kind. Don't worry, though—we'll find you your own special lady." He turns and gives the boy on his shoulder a smile. "I know she's out there waiting for you."

"Will you teach me how to take care of her?" Tyler asks, hope and a little longing in his eyes that Dean doesn't miss. He throws out his biggest grin as he nods.

"Can't have you taking care of classic cars half-assed, right? I learned from the best, so you're gonna learn from the best."

The happy scene is interrupted by a rustling in the tall pines above them. Dean's hunter instincts take over, and he sets Tyler down by the Impala while his eyes scan the canopy. The rustling comes again and several branches break loose. Dean lowers his big hands over both boy and car to protect them.

"What is it?" Tyler whispers, but Dean motions for him to stay quiet and put. Standing up, he listens…zeroes in…and grabs the something in the trees. He then crouches down and faces away from Tyler to take a look at his prey, but Tyler runs around him to see anyway. "What is it?!" the kid asks again, but he's soon just as stunned as Dean. Resting in the giant palm is Castiel.

Tyler crawls into the hand at once and slides in next to the angel. Castiel looks haggard, cut up all over, but not by any tree branch. Dean knows they are knife wounds, and several of them are deep enough that his blinding-white grace is bleeding through. His eyes are shut and his face is quite pale.

"Cas?" Dean tries. The angel stirs at his voice but does not wake, and Dean sighs with worry. "Shit. We gotta get him out of here."

"What's wrong with him, Dean?"

"I don't know, but he can't stay here. Hold on…" Dean grows a little more and tucks the Impala under his left arm. Then he stands up and looks over the trees toward the house in the distance. "Think your family would mind having an angel in their home?"

"Are you kidding? They'll go nuts! Mom'll probably ask him to sign her Bible or something."

Dean smiles at that mental picture: Mrs. Durden holding out the Good Book, Cas not understanding why writing down his name is of any use to anyone and looking to Dean to explain. Dean peers down at his stricken friend. "I missed ya, Weirdo," he murmurs fondly. "Let's get you fixed up."

He turns to walk back to the house, knowing he'll make it back in two minutes or less at this size. As he clears the forest, Tyler hears a screech and leans over the side of Dean's hand to look back at the way they came. Two bird-shaped silhouettes fly in contrast to the setting sun behind them. "Uh, Dean? I think we're being followed."

The giant looks back just in time for the birds to swoop past his head and land on the tips of his fingers, a few feet away from where Castiel lies. Two barn owls look up at Dean and cheep in apparent greeting. Dean does a double-take. "No way…" He brings his hand closer to be sure. They're a little bigger now that they're a little older, but he'd know those heart-shaped faces anywhere. "Fluffernutter? Hoots Junior? That you?"

"They insisted on accompanying me," a low voice informs them. Castiel is awake, though barely so, and his tired blue eyes are now fixed on Dean's big greens.

"Cas?" Dean says, just as Tyler yells "CAS!" and gives the angel a hug. "Are you okay?" the boy asks. "What happened? Do you know these owls? HOW do you know them?"

"Give the guy a chance to answer," Dean chuckles. Tyler gets sheepish and apologizes, but Castiel sits up and gives the boy a nod of reassurance.

"It's all right, Tyler. I'm as eager to speak with you as you are to know what I have to say." But just saying that long sentence tires the angel out, and he breathes hard and leans against the closest giant finger.

"Easy," Dean soothes, "you look like you've been to Hell and back…uh, you know, again. We're on our way back to the Durden Ranch, so rest up and enjoy the ride."

"No, Dean, there's no time. Where is Sam?"

Dean's good mood is killed at once. "That asshole boss of yours sent him off to gank Lilith. I'm going after him just as soon as I know you and Tyler are safe."

Castiel looks alarmed. Well, alarmed for an angel who never blinks. "Then we must stop him. Zachariah—"

"—wants the Apocalypse to happen," Dean finishes for him. "Yeah, I know. He bragged about it while I was trapped in the cave. That's why we gotta stop Zachariah and help Sam end Lilith before the last seal breaks and this whole thing goes FUBAR."

"NO, Dean—it's not Zachariah we must stop. It's your brother." Castiel stands straight and looks right at Dean to make sure there is no misunderstanding as he tells him the awful truth: "Lilith IS the last seal."

Dean's face drops as his heart pumps faster, filling with rage as much as blood. A quiet but furious "What?" is all he's able to ask.

"I found out two months ago," Castiel tells him, "but because I could not find you, I went to Sam instead. Unfortunately, Zachariah had given orders to keep Sam under close supervision, and his followers captured me the moment I tried to make contact with him. I've been held prisoner ever since."

"So how did you escape?" Tyler asks. Castiel looks to him and rests his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You got me out, Tyler." As the kid's eyes blow wide, taking in that enormous notion, the angel looks up at the giant. "The faith of a child is one of the purest and most powerful forces in existence. When Tyler prayed so desperately for me to help you, the cage weakened, and I was able to escape."

"Not a clean getaway, though," Dean points out, looking at Castiel's grace-leaking wounds. Castiel places a hand over the worst one and nods.

"There were guards who fought me," he admits, "but I was able to overpower them and escape. My Father helped me, I know it."

Tyler is awe-struck by the welcome news, but Dean is irritated. "If He really wanted to help, He should've put an end to all of this months ago. Should've AND could've."

Castiel looks away. "That doesn't matter anymore."

"Doesn't matter?! People have DIED, Cas! Angels too! If He's so All-Powerful, why didn't He just step in and DO something?"

"It doesn't work that way," Tyler answers, and Dean scowls at him.

"Don't take his side on this."

"No, Dean, you don't get it. God is good, but evil is evil. He can't stop all the evil, just like evil can't kill all the good. It's a balance. We just gotta trust in Him to get us through the bad times. He always does!"

Dean looks at the boy with a mix of pity and stubbornness. "Sorry, Tyler, but after everything He's put me and my family through…" Tyler's version of Sam's Kicked Puppy look makes him turn his face away. "I don't believe in Him," he grunts. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. He believes in YOU."

Dean is taken aback by the simple statement, making Tyler smile. "Why do you think He chose you, Dean? It's cos you're good—you're GREAT! You never let yourself see it, but we all do. God does, too."

The giant looks to Castiel, who isn't smiling, exactly, but seems very happy in his own way. "A child's faith," he says again. "Powerful, indeed."

"Scree-cheep!" Hoots Junior adds. Tyler sees how much closer the owls have moved and cringes away.

"They won't hurt you," Dean promises.

"You sure? I don't wanna get bit."

Dean laughs. "Big brave Tyler, who took on a giant snake and lived to tell the tale, is afraid of a barn owl?! Come on." Tyler still looks afraid, so Dean gives him his warmest smile. "They're nice, I promise." He looks at the two owls. "Fluff, Hoots, Ty," he introduces. "Ty, this is Hoots Junior," he wriggles his middle finger, and the owl perched on it flaps his wings to keep balance, "and Fluffernutter," he does the same with his ring finger.

Tyler reaches out a shaky hand, and Hoots Junior hops onto his arm and rubs his head against Tyler's cheek. Tyler giggles and pets the breast feathers. "He's soft." Fluffernutter now flies onto Tyler's shoulder, careful to keep his talons from gripping too tightly, and gives him a peck, wanting attention, too. Tyler laughs and obliges, and soon both owls are making happy squeaky sounds.

"I still don't understand how they're here," Dean says, and his eyes go to the angel. "If you just got out of the cage—"

"I went to Bobby Singer's first, by mistake. I was a little…disoriented from the fight, so I flew into the garage instead of his house. The owls told me you weren't there."

"Wait—you can speak owl?"

Castiel nods. "I am able to communicate with all of my Father's creations."

Tyler's eyes are full of adoration as he mumbles, "That is so cool."

"YEAH that's cool!" Dean agrees. "I'm kinda jealous."

"It's not always a blessing," Castiel confesses. "Crabgrass is a complainer and if you don't stop and pay attention to it, it bands together with more crabgrass and complains more loudly until—"

"Cas! Focus. Get back to how you got here."

The angel frowns at being interrupted but returns to his story. "While I was in the garage, I realized I could sense you again. When I told the owls I was going to see you, they insisted that they come along. They told me they've been worried about their featherless big brother."

Dean smiles at the owls. "Aww, I'm part of the family?" They chirrup when he pats them both with his big fingers.

"See, Dean?" Tyler beams. "Everyone loves you."

Dean's big, mushy heart swells with…well, mushiness, and he presses angel, owls, child, and car to his chest in a giant group hug. _Thank God Sammy isn't here right now,_ he thinks mid-hug._ I'd never hear the end of it! _Dwelling on his missing brother brings Dean out of the lovey moment and back to business. He looks to Castiel. "So how do we stop Lilith if we can't kill her?"

"We trap her between worlds so she can never escape. It will require a highly complex ritual, many ingredients. I must be present to speak the necessary Enochian. You will also need my blood for it, as well as your own, and Sam's, and some from a demon."

"Blood sacrifice? Doesn't sound very heavenly to me."

"The blood represents balance. Angel and demon, and vessel and vessel." He notes Dean's confusion and elaborates, "Should Lilith succeed and Lucifer rise, you and Sam are to be angel vessels. You would house Michael, Sam, Lucifer. You would fight each other in the Final Battle and decide the fate of the world."

To say Dean is floored is far too simplistic—it's more like he crashes through the forest floor, drops through the limestone caverns underneath, falls through the CAVE floor, and winds up miles down in the earth's crust. Fluffernutter seems to sense something is off because he flies to Dean's shoulder and lands near his neck, chittering and rubbing like he's trying to soothe him. But Dean takes no comfort. "I knew they were using us," Dean murmurs at length, "but using us to end the world?!"

"A fight to the death," Castiel confirms. "If Michael wins, the angels return to a new paradise on Earth. If Lucifer wins, Hell will rise up, and the demons will take over."

"And how many people die during their pissing contest?" Dean snaps. Castiel is unable to answer, much less look at him, and Dean shuts his eyes a moment. A picture forms in his mind of a devastated planet, piles of dead bodies everywhere, and Sam and himself in the middle of it all, swords raised to deliver the final blows. Sam's face shifts between the Sam Dean knows so very well and the bloodlust version he'd seen that night with Ruby at the motel. "No," Dean whispers, opening his eyes again. "I won't do it. Sam, either." Castiel opens his mouth to say something, but Dean beats him to it. "They're angels, right? They need our consent to wear our meat suits to the prom. We just won't say yes." He lets out a quick laugh. "That's it! No means no! Do not pass Go, do not collect $200—"

"You won't have a choice," Castiel interrupts, though he sounds very unhappy to do so. Dean stops dead and looks at the angel in his palm. "Angels and demons alike will wear you down until one of you finally breaks. And if one of you gives in, it's only a matter of time until the other does…out of despair." Castiel's voice is barely audible as he says the last few words, and he sets his weary body down, gaze dropped to his lap. For several moments, there is no sound, only pressing realization. Then Dean, voice even lower than Castiel's, asks a question:

"Do you know where Zach took Sam?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go get him. I want all of this bullshit over and done with YESTERDAY." He grows some more and moves through the tall pines, closing in on Tyler's Grandparents' house. But when he reaches the outskirts of the backyard and sets down his passengers and car, he notes the dark look on the angel's face. "Aw crap, NOW what?"

"Your brother is surrounded by angels. Getting to him will be nearly impossible."

Dean can't help but smirk a bit at that. "You do not like making things easy for me…"

"There's more."

"Of course there is."

"The ritual has not been performed in two millennia. Even if we gather all the necessary ingredients and perform the ritual precisely, there is no guarantee it will work."

Dean blows out a sigh as he shrinks down to normal size. "So we're going up against both Heaven and Hell with a risky plan, little chance of success, and only the whole world at stake, win or lose. Does that about sum it up?" Castiel nods again, and Dean grins. "Sounds like good times. Sign me up." The angel stands tall, but the little boy next to him slumps, looking fearful for his hero. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "Don't worry, Ty-Guy. It's just another day at the office for a Winchester. We'll get through it, starting with saving Sammy's gigantor ass."

"You won't be able to fight your way past that many angels," Castiel warns, "and I'm afraid I'm not up to full strength yet. I won't be able to do much else other than take you there and bring you back."

"You won't have to fight anyone. We're gonna sneak past them."

"They will see you no matter what you do."

"Not if we hide in plain sight." Dean turns his can-do grin to the owls. "Which one of you is up for a little recon flying?"

* * *

Sam's near-constant pacing has already worn a groove into the decaying wood floor under his feet. He's been here—wherever here is—for over ten minutes, all alone, no sign of Zachariah or anyone else anywhere. His cell phone has no bars and though the door is unlocked, Sam has remained inside because honestly, where would he go? One look outside revealed he was in a long-abandoned farmhouse somewhere south of Nowhere, an overgrown country road his only landmark. So amidst lit candles and cobwebbed corners, he waits, frustrates, and above all else, worries about Dean. Is he still trapped behind that cave-in? Is he all right? Is Zachariah still there, making everything worse?

"Dammit!" Sam kicks a rickety chair into the wall. "I should BE there, not standing around here with my thumb up my ass!"

"There's a colloquialism I sincerely hope isn't based on fact." Zachariah appears behind Sam, looking just as smug as ever. Sam stomps toward him at once.

"Dean—?"

"—is fine," Zachariah smiles. Sam frowns.

"Define 'fine.'"

"Alive? Breathing? Making empty threats?"

Sam relaxes a tiny bit, but his ire remains. "You didn't need to bury him in a friggin' cave in. I was willing to help—we BOTH were. All you had to do was ask!"

A flash of regret crosses the angels face. "I'm not known for my patience. For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to come to that."

Sam crosses his arms over his broad chest. "No you're not. Just like I'm not sorry for how I wish I could kill you for what you did to Dean." Sam glare holds Zachariah's gaze for a moment before he turns away. "But we're stuck with each other till this gets done, so let's get it done already."

"Spoken like a true businessman. I think your talents were wasted at law school. You would've made a great corporate shark!"

Sam ignores the half compliment, half insult and gets right to the point. "Where's Lilith?"

"Close by. But before you face her, you'll need an energy boost." He snaps his fingers, and the same angel cronies from the cave walk in the front door—with Ruby in tow. Demon and human see each other at the same time.

"Sam?!"

"Ruby? What are you doing here?"

"ME? Since when do you parlay with angels?"

"Well well well!" Zachariah interrupts, stepping between them. "When I gave orders to bring in a demon, I had no idea they'd capture an old acquaintance." He bends down to look Ruby in the eye. "So this is the demon whore who led you so very astray."

She spits in his face. "I'd rather be a demon whore than an angelic ass clown."

Zachariah laughs. "She's a firecracker! I can see why you liked her, Sam." He motions to the cronies, and they force her onto what's left of the kitchen table and hold her down.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks.

Zachariah produces an ornate knife. "Preparing your drink, of course." He sees Sam's look of disgust and winces. "Ooh, sorry, will the bad blood between you two affect the taste? I'm new to this kind of cocktail shindig so I'm still learning."

Sam gapes at him with disbelief. "You want me to drink demon blood?"

"Well that's how it works, right? We need your powers to kill Lilith, and you need demon blood to make those powers work. So what's the problem?"

"I don't drink that crap anymore," Sam states. "I'm clean, and I'm staying clean. So you might as well get her out of here," he waves in Ruby's direction. "I won't touch her OR drink her blood."

"You don't have a choice." To Sam's surprise, these words come from Ruby, not Zachariah, and he turns his stubborn stare to her now. "Lilith is gonna break the final seal at midnight. We are officially out of dicking-around time and full-on into Now or Never.

"I know," Sam says quietly.

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is you," Sam snaps. "Him," he points to Zachariah. "ALL of this!"

As the three dig in their heels for a long argument, nature's own stealth flyer closes in on its target. A barn owl flies silently on the wind, twilight skies shrouding him from the crowd of angels far below. The only thing that could possibly give him away is his rider losing his nerve. And since his rider just happens to be Dean Winchester, shrunk down to six inches and holding tight to Fluffernutter's feathers, that possibility becomes more and more plausible by the second.

_Why did Cas have to drop us off two miles out? _Dean groans in his mind. _Why does it have to be so windy? WHY did you think you could handle this?! _

_Hey, it was a good idea, _his inner voice responds. _And you're almost there—just hold on a little longer._

Dean opens his eyes a crack, surprised by the support. _Did you just say something nice to me?!_

_Aw, what can I say—I'm proud of ya for believing in yourself for once and busting out of that cave. _The voice allows Dean to bask in some confidence a few moments before resuming its normal bossiness: _Now do us all a favor and don't fuck this up, all right?_

Dean nods into the feathers. Fluffernutter banks right and flies them down to an abandoned farmhouse. He settles on the sill of the sole window that isn't boarded up and looks back at his rider.

"Great flying, Fluff," Dean praises, patting his feathery steed as he dismounts. He does a quick check to make sure no angels are around and then peers in through the filmy glass. He spots Sam immediately, looking tall and really pissed off. Zachariah is in the background, along with two angel goons standing on either side of a woman lying on a table. Dean spies her long, dark hair and says, "Please don't let that be Ruby…" The woman turns her head, arguing with Sam, and Dean groans when he sees that yes, it is her. "I have to get in there," he mutters. Looking around, he spots a hole near the roof. "Think you can get us up there, buddy?"

The owl cheeps and leans down to let Dean climb back on. Flapping hard, Fluffernutter lifts up and, holding his feet out, grabs onto the decaying wood siding and pulls his body in through the hole. It's a tight fit—too tight, in fact, and Dean gets pushed off the owl's back. But he only drops for a split second before Fluffernutter grabs his shirt with a talon and pulls him back up. Setting him down, Fluffernutter squeaks and Dean pats the owl as he nods that he's fine. The two of them creep forward toward a light in the small space. It opens into another hole that allows them to enter the rafters high above the kitchen, and the loudness of the argument below them nearly knocks them both off their perches.

"I already told you, Sam, you're the only one who can stop her," Zachariah says. "All we're asking is for you to take your medicine—"

"—and become some mindless junkie that you can use to do your dirty work," Sam bellows. "Well I don't like being used!"

"Damn straight," Dean comments under his breath. "And that's all those two ever do."

"Getting hooked on demon blood cost me everything," Sam goes on to say, "and just about every-ONE I care about, and now you expect me to chugalug and throw it all away again?! How is that right?" He throws his arms wide at the question. "How is that anywhere near FAIR?"

"Oh boo-hoo, Sammy—since when is LIFE fair?" Ruby tries to get up, but the angels continue to hold her down, so she glares at them. "Do you mind? I like to do my point-making sitting up." Zachariah nods the okay, and they release her. Ruby sits up and turns to Sam. "WOW you look grumpy."

"Save the spin job," he sends back. "You're not changing my mind."

"Okay, fine—how about a reality check?" She waits till she has his eyes on hers before going on. "You're right, I did use you. There, I admitted it. But guess what, Mr. Morals—you used me right back."

"I beg your unbelievable pardon?"

"Oh please. How many nights was I there for you? I brought you back from the brink, like, a thousand times. I betrayed my own kind and gave you everything I had, my time, my protection, my blood. My love…"

Sam looks at Ruby and finds the demon vulnerable. "Yeah, you dick," she spits, "I fell in love with you. And demons don't do love, but dammit, you made me feel again. You wanna talk about unfair…" She shakes her head in disgust. "Whatever. I knew you didn't see me that way. I dealt and I kept going. But fuck it…despite everything, I still want to help you kill the bitch. And if you drinking me dry is the only way to do it, then go for it. Knock yourself out." She holds out her arm for Sam to take. "Just end Lilith before it's too late."

Sam doesn't speak or move, so Zachariah does instead. "That was strangely moving. For a demon…"

"Ruby's not like most demons," Sam points out, a small smile playing at his lips. Ruby responds in kind. He takes hold of her hand. "I'll stop Lilith." Then he gently folds her arm back to her side. "…but not that way," he says. "I won't drink demon blood—period."

Dean looks down with pride at his little brother. He wanted to believe Sam back in the cave when he said he was clean—GOD he wanted to believe, but he just couldn't. Not after all the lies and hurt Sam had put between them. But now he's got his proof. Now he really, truly has his Sammy back. He turns the smile he wishes he could give his brother to the owl next to him. "Things are finally looking up, Fluff," he whispers, petting the soft feathers, and Fluffernutter squeaks and rubs his head against Dean's body.

Then Zachariah has to go and ruin the moment by being an asshole. No surprise there, of course, but still. Tightening the left cufflink on his expensive suit, he says, "You disappoint me, Sam. You're supposed to be the smart one, right? And yet here you are, chance in hand to save the world, and you're turning it down." He sighs and tightens the right cufflink with one twist. "Very well. There are other ways to go, one easy, one hard." He checks his Rolex. "And since we're running short on time, I pick the easy way."

With a snap of the angel's fingers, Sam's legs break. He drops to the floor in agony, and two polished shoes walk toward him. Sam grabs at the approaching ankles, and Zachariah snaps his fingers again and breaks Sam's arms.

"And they call demons bad," Ruby remarks.

"Angels aren't bad," Zachariah corrects her, "just ruthless." He grabs a cup from the musty cupboard and holds it out to Ruby. "If you don't mind filling this up…" Ruby hisses but takes the cup anyway, knowing she really has no choice.

Dean is beyond pissed as he watches all of this unfolding. He wants nothing more than to drop, grow, and crush that asshole for daring to hurt his brother. But he keeps a cool head, knowing that barging in like that won't do any good—not when there are three angels and a demon in a room. If he doesn't want to be held against the wall, put to sleep, or teleported to the South Pole, he has to be sneaky. He leans in to Fluffernutter as he starts to shrink even smaller. "I need a favor."

Below them, Zachariah kicks Sam onto his back. The younger Winchester is now struggling to breathe through the relentless pain, and Zachariah smirks, cup of blood now in hand. "That's right, open wide…"

"SCREEEEE!"

Zachariah drops the cup and joins everyone in a group jolt at the sudden sound. He looks up as a barn owl flaps around the rafters, feathers flying everywhere. Zachariah points his finger at it, but Sam scoffs loud enough for the angel to hear.

"So what, you're gonna kill an owl for being an owl?!"

Zachariah ignores him and looks back, but the bird is gone. If not for the still-flying feathers it shed, there would be no evidence it had ever been there at all. The angel straightens his tie, picks up the cup, and looks back to the demon. "I'll need a refill."

Ruby rolls her eyes. "I'm not a keg y'know…"

As she cuts open a new 'tap,' a lone white feather drifts toward the top of her head, only to be steered away by its tiny passenger. Dean, now only half an inch tall, is holding on to the ends of the small feather and using it as a parachute—and doing his best not to look down more than he has to. _Just get to that douche bag's bald spot, draw the sigil, and banish his ass, _Dean coaches himself. As Zachariah moves in to take the cup from Ruby, Dean leans left and kicks his legs out to drop toward the angel's head. And, naturally, Zachariah moves again just as Dean's about to land, and the wind kicked up by the giant body in motion throws both feather and hanger-oner far off course. Dean spins and shoots higher into the air.

"This is NOT how this was supposed to go!" Dean hollers, knowing he's far too small for anyone to hear him. "Fate, Karma—whoever is currently screwing with my rescue efforts, KNOCK IT OFF!" Concentrating hard, he doubles his size to an inch to use his body as ballast and regain control. The new weight proves too heavy for the feather, so Dean shuts his eyes tight as he drops one…two…three seconds, before he shrinks again and becomes, literally, feather-weight. Shaking hard, Dean looks down and instantly regrets it. _Why does this have to be so fucking scary?_ Sweat is now loosening his grip, so he wipes his hands one at a time on his jeans and forces air through his mouth and into his lungs. "For Sammy," he breathes, focusing on his giant brother's pain, still FAR too far below him. "You can do this for Sammy."

Meanwhile, Zachariah sets the cup on the counter and stands next to Sam, making sure to step on his hand with his heel. Sam cries out from his newest pain and Zachariah smiles. "You know, I never did understand the whole Free Will idea. You humans get chance after chance to make your lives better, or happier, at the very least, and yet all you ever seem to do is make yourselves more miserable. Take you for example: sure, you had a rough childhood, I'll give you that, but you also had a brother who got you through it."

"Dammit, don't bring me into this," Dean begs, still en route to his landing spot.

"Dean gave you his food, his money, his attention…stole presents for you just so you could have a birthday, gave up the one season he could've played baseball so he could finish both your chores while you were in the school play…even dropped out of high school so his teacher couldn't recommend him for that engineering internship." Sam's eyes widen, and Zachariah grins. "Ooh, didn't know about that one, hmm? It's true. He gave up his ONE CHANCE at being a Somebody just so he could stick around and keep acting as the punching bag for you and your dad. And how did you repay him?" His hand comes up at the question, knocking Dean off course—again—as the angel leers at the stricken Winchester. "You left! Didn't speak to him for YEARS! You ruined his life, Sam—you, the kid brother, the person Dean loves the most in the whole world. He gave you everything, and you still demanded more."

If this were a normal situation, Sam and/or Dean would be telling the jackass to shut up already. But this is not a normal situation; both Winchesters have lost their voices and are very close to losing their fight as well. Dean is so despondent that he's ready to stop, drop, and go splat, while Sam's heart and soul now hurt as much as his broken body. But Zachariah isn't finished. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," he says, clapping a hand on the busted leg. "All Dean ever wanted was for you to stick around, but even that was too much to ask, am I right? It's no wonder the guy has abandonment issues." Zachariah shakes his head in faux concern. "But God bless him, no matter how many times you left, he'd still keep the door open so you could come back. Free will," another head shake, this time in 'I Don't Get it.' "Or stupidity—I'm really starting to think it's a fine line. Like how he stuck by you even when he KNEW you were running around with a demon in a short skirt—what was THAT about?"

"Oh please," Ruby groans, "Dean was hardly cheering him on when it came to his powers."

"But he didn't ditch him, either," Zachariah points out. "He stayed. Day in and day out, lie after lie, betrayal after betrayal, he STAYED." The angel turns back to Sam. "Until you crushed him and forced him to leave." Zachariah gives a cruel smile. "How's it feel knowing you were your brother's last straw?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just stands up, finally releasing Sam's hand from the bottom of his shoe. Sam's only response is a tiny moan at the back of his throat; the tears flooding his eyes say much more.

The sight breaks Dean's heart—and strengthens his will. Despondency retreats as renewed purpose marches in. _For Sammy, _he thinks again, this time with determination. As Zachariah picks the blood-filled cup off the countertop, Dean veers in toward his new target, this time using the wind stirred up by the mammoth angel to his advantage. He takes aim and makes a perfect landing on the tip of Sam's nose. The skin beneath him wriggles at once, and Dean realizes he must be tickling him, so he kicks the feather clear and turns around to face his brother. Sam doesn't see him, so Dean waves to get his attention. The huge hazel irises cross to focus on the miniature man, then widen when they realize at whom they're seeing. Dean throws him two thumbs up just as a shadow comes over them both: Zachariah is back, this time with the blood in tow. _Time to move, _Dean thinks, and he takes off across Sam's tear-stained cheek.

Sam in the meantime keeps glancing between where Zachariah is and where Dean just was, wondering where his tiny big brother went. He pictures a Dean-shaped splat on the floor and prays that he's wrong. "Back to business," Zachariah says, grabbing Sam's attention once again. "This is your absolute last chance. I'll fix your broken bones if you drink this. Fight me in any way and I'll break your spine. Do we have a deal?"

Sam's about to tell him to go fuck himself when he hears Dean's voice: "Just go with it, Sammy. Drink but don't swallow."

_Dean? _Sam's head moves around as he tries to locate him, but then he feels a tapping on his left earlobe.

"Stop moving before you squish me!" Dean shouts. "I'm in your left ear and I'm fine. Now tell that fuckwad you agree before he breaks your back."

Sam looks up at the angel and says, "Fine. Just fix me first."

Zachariah snaps his fingers and Sam is healed. Sitting up, Sam takes the cup in shaking hands, glaring at the smug angel as he takes a tiny sip. "There now," Zachariah chides, "was that so terrible?"

Sam frowns, flushes red, and bolts over to the sink, spitting out the awful stuff with a fair amount of gagged-up spew. Dean covers his nose at the yucky stink and says, "Wow, way to go method."

"That wasn't acting," Sam mutters back. The moment the demon blood hit his taste buds, all he could taste was death. _I can't believe I ever thought that stuff was sweet, _he thinks with disgust. Both brothers are relieved by Sam's revulsion, but Zachariah is furious.

"Don't tell me you've got a sensitive stomach…"

"I told you, I'm clean!" Sam yells as he turns to face him. "I can't stand that shit anymore."

"No matter: There are other ways to get it in your system." He produces a syringe from his coat pocket and holds it up with a smile.

_Time for Plan C_, Dean thinks, _or D…E maybe? Whatever, I lost track, pick a letter._

A second later, Sam hears a faint tearing sound. "Dean?" he whispers, wondering what's going on, but he gets no reply from his brother.

"I should've just done this from the start," Zachariah says, more to himself than anyone in the room. As he draws the blood out of the cup and into the syringe, he adds, "I suppose it's my fault for thinking you would ever—" He stops and stares at Sam's shoulder. Sam frowns, confused, and looks at his shoulder as well but finds nothing. Zachariah's face goes red with rage, though, and he lunges forward.

"Don't you DARE!"

But Dean, now a few inches tall again, presses his bleeding hand to the angel banishing sigil he just painted on the side of Sam's neck. The room erupts in blinding white light, and when it clears, Sam and Dean are alone. Dean looks at the crimson symbols and whistles.

"Angel Zapper! Leaves no mess and only the fresh scent of pine."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Sam, I'm fine."

"I can't see."

Dean notices Sam groping at the air with his long arms stretched out. "Why didn't you close your eyes?"

"Cos I didn't know the room was gonna blind me! A little warning would've been nice!"

"I didn't have time," Dean says. "To be honest, I wasn't even sure that would work."

"You used Anna's sigil, right?"

"Yeah. Cas taught it to me before I came here to rescue you."

"Cas is back?! Where's he been? Is he okay?"

"He's fine…ish. I'll fill you in on the rest once we're out of here. Right now, I need you to grab that syringe of demon blood. We're gonna need it."

"What? Why?"

"I TOLD you, explanations later. Now crouch down and don't move your feet—it's right by your boot and still in once piece. Let's keep it that way."

"Can't Ruby get it?" Sam asks.

"Ruby isn't here," Dean replies with a sigh—not because he misses her in any way, but that Sam thought to ask for her help. "Am-scrayed the moment the angels did. It's just you and me, pal. Now get crouching!"

Sam eases down and feels around for the syringe. "To your left," Dean instructs. The fumbling hands go right. "Your OTHER left, genius."

"Yeah, I'm practically blind here? Thanks."

"So? Left is still left whether you can see it or not." Dean nods in approval when the giant fingers finally enclose around the glass tube. "Nice job. Think you can put it in your pocket without pricking your finger?"

"Think you could survive a fall if I flick you off my shoulder?" Sam stands back up and drops the syringe in his jacket pocket. "Why haven't you grown back yet, anyway?"

"Uh…cos I'm stuck."

"What?! I thought you were an expert with your powers now!"

"I am!" Dean insists.

"Then grow back!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Cos I'm stuck."

They both sigh. "Well there has to be a reason for it," Sam thinks out loud. "When did you get stuck?"

"I don't know…when Zachy got that syringe out, I tried to grow enough so I could jump to the floor and do the sigil there. But I only managed four inches, so I stayed on your shoulder and cut into my arm right there."

"Were you scared?"

"For YOU, yeah! I couldn't let that bastard give you a demon blood enema!"

"So it was before that," Sam muses, stepping forward.

"Sam, be careful…"

"When Zachariah was talking…"

"Seriously, there are candles everywhere—"

"When Zachariah was talking about ME." Sam nods as it dawns on him. "That's it, Dean! That's what makes you get stuck! It was the same way back in the cave when—" His arm whips out and connects with something. A second later, a clank-and-thud pattern hits Sam's ears. "Oh shit, what'd I do?"

"You hit a candle on a candle stick, which fell on the floor and started a chair on fire."

"SHIT." Sam steps forward and his knee smacks into something else. He then stumbles back and his hip knocks into the table.

"Stop hitting things!" Dean shouts.

"I can't SEE!" Sam shouts back. By now the fire has spread to the ratty curtains. Sam starts to cough from the smoke.

"Hang on, Sammy, I got this." Dean scrambles up the back of Sam's hair and emerges on top of his head. Then he grabs several tendrils of hair in each hand and pulls up. Sam straightens out at once.

"OW! What the hell, Dean?"

"Walk! I'll steer!"

"You're doing the _Ratatouille_ thing?! You hated that movie!"

"I didn't hate it!" Dean yanks with his left hand, and Sam veers left around the burning table. "I hated that you LIED to me about it! You said it was a movie about food!"

"It WAS about food—owwww, not so hard!"

"Sorry." Dean guides Sam right, then left again. "It was a movie about RATS! You KNOW I hate rats!"

"They were cute rats!"

"But still rats!" Dean yells. "That part at the beginning when the hundreds of rats fell through the ceiling? Scarred me for LIFE, Sam!"

Sam winces as Dean pulls hard to the right. "I thought the food parts would balance out the rat parts!"

"You thought WRONG!"

Part of the roof crashes down in front of them, and Dean yanks hard, getting Sam to fall back onto his ass. The windows burst from the rising heat and pressure, making Dean's worry triple. He hears Sam calling for him, and he pats him on his head. "It's okay, Sammy, I'm still here. Now get up, we don't have a lot of time here…"

"Yeah, I had a feeling…" Sam gets to his feet but remains crouched over, trying to breathe through the smog. "Is there any part of this place NOT on fire?"

"Me and you. That's about it." The fire spreads to the frame above the front door; Dean knows they only have seconds. "Okay, you're gonna have to run for it. The door is three feet in front of you—smash and bash." The roof begins to collapse, and Dean kicks his boots into Sam's scalp. "Go! NOW!"

Sam darts forward and slams through with ease, the ancient door breaking upon impact. Careening blindly, Sam trips down the porch steps and topples forward, rolling over several times before finally sliding to a stop. His still-spotty vision is drawn to the orange blur in the background as his ears pick up on the farmhouse's death knell. He breathes hard but smiles with relief. "Thanks, Dean."

"Don't mention it," Dean coughs as he finishes patting out the embers in Sam's hair. Sam calls out his brother's name, sounding frantic, and Dean realizes he can't hear him. Dean grows a little—with no trouble this time—and jumps off so he can return to normal.

"Dean?! DEAN!"

"Right here, Sammy." He rests his hand on his brother's shoulder as the younger Winchester relaxes. "You okay?"

Sam nods. "Thanks to you." He relaxes even more when he feels Dean's hands go to his face, then his arms: big brother doing his Make Sure Sam Is Really Okay administrations. It's so familiar, so welcome to Sam that he could cry. Instead he just sits still and relishes the fact that he's back in his brother's care. Then he feels Dean's hand go into Sam's jacket pocket. Sam winces as he remembers the syringe—and all the tumbling around he did. "How is it?" Sam asks.

"Just fine—no leaks, no breaks." Dean pockets the tube of demon blood and looks back to Sam. "How are the peepers?"

"Better. I can see blobs."

"Blobs are good. Lemme signal Cas and he'll get you patched up. Course, I'm not sure if he'll be able to fix your hair." Dean smirks as Sam's big hands go at once to his long locks.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"You caught the fiery end of the doorframe in there. I put out what I could, but…" He trails off, biting his lip so he won't laugh.

"But what? Dean?!" Sam is patting and soothing around every hair on his head now. "Are you shitting me? You'd better be shitting me…"

Dean just laughs and waves to Fluffernutter, who is circling overhead. The owl lands on Dean's jacket-clad arm and squeaks a greeting while rubbing against his chin. Dean pats the bird back and then, seeing Sam still fussing and cursing, decides to take pity on him. "You're FINE, Goldilocks."

Sam drops his hands and does a blind bitch face. "Don't call me that."

"You got it, Rapunzel." Dean gets a short sigh for that one, so he chuckles as he helps Sam stand up. Then he shuts his eyes and sends out a prayer to Castiel: "Beam us up, Scotty."

_I am not Scotty and I do not beam, _the angel replies in his mind.

"Just get us out of here, would you? Please? Before the Z-Team gets back here and they put Sam back on seal-breaking duty?"

"Wait, WHAT?!" Sam yells.

"It was Lilith the whole time. Total snow job." Dean begins the explanations as they disappear from the scene. Moments later, Ruby emerges from where she'd been hiding and listening in.

She is not happy.

* * *

Two hours later, the good guys are gathered around picnic table near an old barn, busy preparing the ingredients for Castiel's witches' brew, as Dean christened it, much to the angel's utter befuddlement. "Oh come on," Dean had said when inevitably questioned by said angel, "we're hiding out in secret, full moon above us, throwing a crazy list of ingredients into an actual cauldron…" He'd snatched the list from the angel's hand and looked it over as he kept talking. "I mean, there's no eye of newt on here, but you've got everything from a cup of sugar to a child's tear to a piece of freaking lava rock, are you serious? All we need are some pointy hats to go with this toil and trouble and we're official!"

"Official what?" Castiel asked. Dean sighed and told the angel he was on lava rock detail.

Now, 120 minutes and 93 ingredients later, the mixture is nearly complete. While Tyler takes his turn stirring the cauldron, Hoots Junior flies overhead and drops a sprig of juniper into Dean's waiting hands. "Thanks Hoots!" Dean calls, placing the sprig on the stuff-to-be-added pile. Castiel had insisted on putting all the ingredients into the cauldron himself, and since he's out gathering the last of what's still needed, the small pile will have to do until he returns. Dean checks the juniper off the list and nods at Sam as he sits down across from him.

"How do you know which is which?" Sam asks as he watches Hoots Junior land in a nearby tree.

"Don't you mean who is who? Y'know, owls? Who?" Dean grins at his lame joke. Sam doesn't. Dean clears his throat. "Fluffernutter's wing feathers are peanut butter brown mixed with bread crust brown, like the top and bottom of a Fluffernutter sandwich. Then in the middle you have the tummy feathers, which are the same color as marshmallow fluff and white bread, just like in the middle of a Fluffernutter sandwich. Put them together and—"

"You've got a Fluffernutter sandwich," Sam finishes with an eye-roll. "Yeah, I get it. Though I still think you named him that just so you could say 'Fluffernutter' more often."

Dean grins. "It's a great word for a great sammitch."

"Okay, so why Hoots Junior?"

"Well it was either that or Snickers. And I'm already craving a Fluffernutter sandwich so I figured I'd spare myself the hunger pains."

They hear a squeaky cheep from overhead and look up just as Fluffernutter flies in, a bit of snow white fur in his beak and a dead chipmunk in his talons. He lands on the table, drops the fur on the ingredient pile, and then nudges the rodent toward Dean and looks at him. Sam fights a grin while Dean gulps down the vomit in his throat. Fluffernutter nudges it again and cheep-squeaks, hopping forward and looking so cute, in complete contrast to the grossness of the bloody chipmunk corpse on the table.

"Uhh, no thanks, bud. Not hungry. Y-you enjoy."

"Oh come on, Dean!" Sam teases. "You just told me you were hungry!" Dean levels a glare at his little brother, who only grins. "I bet it tastes just like chicken."

"Shut up, Sam."

"Maybe a little gamey, but you know you like it rough—"

"Shut UP, Sam!"

Tyler giggles, too, until Dean turns his glare to the kid. The humor wipes off his face at once, and he picks up his cauldron stirring. Dean turns back to tell Sam where to go, only to get an eyeful of barn owl ripping the rodent in two, cheeping at his brother to join him. Hoots flies over, and Dean stands up and puts his back to the feasting.

"Did you know barn owls can eat over a thousand rodents a year?" Tyler asks, reading straight off Sam's laptop, which he has been using to find out more about owls whenever he isn't stirring.

"That's great, Tyler," Dean remarks flatly, closing his eyes.

"And they don't just eat chipmunks! Says here they'll eat mice, rats, voles, shrews, gophers, fish, insects, frogs—even smaller birds! Wow, and I thought reptiles had a broad diet…" Tyler glances at Dean and finds his friend looking green. "Dean? You okay?"

"He's hungry," Castiel answers as he appears, and he places a wrapped cheeseburger in Dean's hands. Dean's pallor goes from green to grey and Castiel cocks his head and blinks, looking a bit owlish himself. "Did I not get you the right kind?"

"No—'s great, Cas, thanks. Just lost my appetite for some reason..." Dean sets the burger down on the table and then points to the burlap sack in Castiel's hands. "That the rest of it?"

"Yes." The angel pulls out one item at a time, naming them as they're set on the table. "Holy oil…sand from the depths of the deepest ocean…a tuft of cloud…and cool whip."

"Cool whip?" Sam repeats with a look.

"It's on the list," Dean confirms. He reaches out to touch the cloud tuft, which looks like a large cotton ball floating an inch off the picnic table, but Castiel pulls his hand away.

"It will dissolve into rain if you make contact. Only an angel can grasp it, for our wings are of their kind." Castiel drops it into the cauldron, where it hits the boiling contents with a soft whoosh! and disappears.

"Show off," Dean mutters.

"So do we finally have everything?" Sam asks.

"Almost. Once I mix these final ingredients, I must let the matter simmer for another 20 minutes. Then there will only be this." Castiel holds up a small Tupperware jar that contains the mixture of blood from Ruby, Sam, Dean, and himself. "I cannot add the blood until the ritual is underway."

"So we're good to go for now?" Dean assumes, and when he gets the affirmative from Castiel, he nods a few times and looks away. "Good. I can get some practice time in."

Sam frowns. "Practice?"

"Size shifting. Can't get stuck again when we're going up against Lilith…" He jogs toward the barn before anyone can object, yelling that he's just going to the other side and to call if they need him. Sam watches him go, his frown lifting into a pensive look.

"You are worried about him," Castiel says, and Sam nods. "So am I. He is not eating and is very nervous. I don't enjoy prying into your brother's mind, but his thoughts are like screams right now and only getting louder; I can't help but hear them."

"What are they about?"

The haunting blue eyes look to Sam. "You."

Sam clenches his jaw, not needing the angel to explain what he means. "You two finish up here. I'm gonna talk with my brother."

He turns toward the barn and heads off. His heart is already pounding after only two steps, so he forces his legs to make slow, deliberate strides as he breathes deep. His thoughts, however, are allowed to race on ahead of him. He believes he knows why Dean is nervous, and why he's practicing when he doesn't need to, even why his thoughts are all about Sam. A hunch has been forming in his mind for some time now, and as he pours over memories, that hunch strengthens, first to instinct, then to fact. Sam's studious brain then compiles everything into a neat list of evidence, ready to be called upon when needed. By the time he reaches Dean, he's ready to make his case.

_Now comes the hard part: Making Dean listen. _Sam takes a final deep breath and walks past some trees, emerging onto the far side of the barn. He watches as Dean stands, grows to about 40 feet, and then drops forward as if to do push-ups, only to shrink back to normal the split second before his palms hit the ground. Then he gets up and does it again. Sam marvels for a minute before he makes his presence known, timing it so that he clears his throat just as Dean is falling forward. He knows Dean's hunter instincts would never allow him to lose concentration from something so trivial; Dean should roll over and get right into attack stance. Instead, Dean falls flat on his stomach and fails to shrink. The resulting THUD shakes the area, and several nearby pine trees lose their needles. They fall like rain as Sam walks forward, smiling with concern as Dean picks himself up and scowls at his little brother.

"Dammit, Sammy, warn a guy!"

"I did." Sam gets a glare for that, but he doesn't rise to it—he knows Dean is just embarrassed and trying not to show it. "Go ahead, Dean. I just came to watch."

He expects Dean to deflect him with a sex joke, but instead, Dean frowns and asks, "Why?"

"Well, Castiel is doing his Test Kitchen thing and Tyler is spending time with the owls, so I thought I'd come see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Dean says, but his big eyes are filling with suspicion. "I don't need a babysitter."

"But I could use some company," Sam replies, playing the Sympathy Card. He sits down on a stump. "Keep practicing. I'll be quiet."

Dean stares a moment before he grunts out a "whatever" and backs off. He switches the way he's facing so that he'll fall well over to Sam's side, then shuts his eyes, gets ready, and drops. BAM! He only shrinks down halfway, and his 20-foot body lands hard. Dean grumbles and tries again. THUD! This time he only manages a few feet. He avoids looking at Sam as he picks his aching frame up for another go.

"Dean…"

"Quiet!" The giant shakes out his arms and legs. "I can do this. I have DONE this." He drops a third time, but he overdoes it and he's toddler-sized as he hits the ground. His knee is bleeding through a new hole in his jeans, but he ignores it as he stands up and grows again. "Quit jinxing me!" Dean yells down at Sam.

"What?! How am I jinxing you?"

"Well I was doing just fine till you got here!"

"I know." Sam gets up. "I saw."

Dean looks at him with his frustration. "I don't get it. I'm not doing anything different. I've got this, I KNOW it! So why am I fucking up so royally?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sam asks. Dean gives him a blank look. "It's me. I'm not jinxing you or anything, but I'm…I'm the problem."

Dean balks. "Come on, Sam—"

"No, Dean, think about it. All the times you've frozen up. Back at that farmhouse with Zachariah—I was there. Months ago, when Meesh was running her tests on you, I was THERE."

"Yeah but I got stuck lots of times while we were separated."

"I bet you were thinking about me, though," Sam murmurs. "What I'd think or say if I was there…watching you fail." He knows the words are going to hurt, but he also knows he has to get Dean talking. Dean doesn't say a word, though, just gapes at him, face full of thunder, but too stunned to strike. So Sam heaves a sigh and looks up at him. "Dean, we have to have the talk we've been avoiding."

Sam swears he can hear the bricks and mortar as the emotional defense walls build up around his brother. He starts with a joke when the walls are halfway up: "I already know about the birds and the bees, Sammy."

"Dean…come on. You know I'm right about this."

Walls now in place, complete with sharpshooters aiming their arrows at nosy little brothers who don't know when to quit, Dean snaps, "No amount of sharing and caring is gonna fix my problems. And even if it could, which it can't, we don't have time to bear our innermost. Lilith—"

"—can't break the last seal unless I kill her," Sam says. "And I'm not going to. But there's no way I'm facing her when you're not at 100 percent."

"So you're gonna sideline me?!"

"Of course not! I'm done doing things alone, Dean. I have to have you there, by my side. But you won't have my back if you get stuck, right?" Sam knows he's played both the Little Brother Card and the Protect Me Card in one hand, and he hopes it's enough to get Dean to fold, because honestly, if this doesn't work, Sam doesn't know what will. _Full-out begging, maybe, _he thinks, but he really hopes it doesn't come to that.

Dean in the meantime is ruminating. Part of him knows Sam is right and that they really do need to talk, but most of him really, REALLY doesn't want to, knowing it's only going to lead to more hurt for the both of them. Still, one look at Sam and he can tell there's no way out of this. _Even if I grow and walk away, my problems will just follow along. _Dean breathes in and sighs out. It's time. He sits his giant body down next to the barn and leans his back against it, facing Sam but not looking at him. He drops his hands when they start to fidget.

"So, ah, how are we doing this?" Dean begins. "Twenty questions? Truth or dare?"

"Why don't you cut to the chase and just tell me what's bothering you?"

"Pff. What doesn't bother me these days…"

"I mean about ME." Sam waits for Dean to speak, but the giant only looks away. "Is it the demon blood?"

"No," Dean answers. "I know you're clean."

"But you're worried I'll start drinking it again." Sam's guess brings the big green gaze down upon him.

"Do you get cravings?"

"I did at first, but not anymore. Not even when I tasted it again. It was just…gross." He makes a face. "I can't believe I used to guzzle that stuff…"

Dean gives a grim smile. "Yeah. Me neither."

It grows silent for a few moments before Sam ducks his head and admits, "I don't miss the blood, and I definitely don't miss being hooked on that crap, but I miss the power." He can feel Dean looking at him again, but Sam can't look back—not if he wants to get this out. "When I sent a demon back to Hell, it felt…incredible. Not just physically, but, like…it was my right to do this, y'know? Like I'd earned it. After all the shit demons have done to me—to US—to be able to beat them like that…destroy them… God, Dean, it was exhilarating. I felt…free! Like I was finally in control of my life for the first time IN my life."

"Calling all the shots, making and breaking the rules…" Dean offers a smirk. "Yeah. I can see how that'd be pretty sweet. Too bad it wasn't legit, huh." Sam looks at him. "You know, Ruby turning you into a junkie so you'd kill Lilith and free Lucifer…"

Sam nods, thinking back on his very long and extra winding road to the truth. "You owe me the world's biggest 'I Told You So' on that one…"

"I'm saving it for a rainy day. Or the next time you're so sure you know better than me. That'll be in what, ten minutes tops?"

Sam gives the toe of Dean's boot a kick, and Dean chuckles. Then Sam's face grows serious. "I was really gonna do it, too. Kill Lilith. If you hadn't found me at that cabin, Zachariah would've given me that blood…" Sam smiles now, out of disbelief. "…and that would've been IT. The devil would be walking the earth again. All thanks to me…"

Dean's hand cups around him in support. "Well it didn't happen, and it ain't gonna happen. Don't beat yourself up when you didn't do anything wrong." He gives his little brother as gentle a pat on the back he can at his size and then lifts his hand away. But Sam doesn't look comforted. If anything, he seems more troubled than ever. "What?" Sam ducks his head, not wanting to answer, so Dean pokes him in the side with his finger. "Dude, WHAT? Out with it."

"I still want to kill her, Dean." Shining eyes peer up at the giant. "I can't kill Lilith, and I won't, I promise…but I wish I could. Trapping her isn't enough. I want her to suffer, like YOU suffered. She dragged you to Hell. It's only right I send her back there, too."

"Still on that, huh?" Dean mumbles. Sam stares at him, aghast.

"Well, YEAH, Dean, I'm still on that! I'll ALWAYS be on that! She took you away!"

"No, Sam, I left." Dean holds his brother's gaze for a few seconds to make sure it sinks in. "I sold my soul to save yours. All Lilith did was hold the contract, and when my time came due, she sent the hellhounds to collect. So drop the grudge already. You only want to kill her because you can't take it out on me."

Sam laughs once in outrage. "Are you serious? Dean, I nearly squeezed you to death! How is that not taking it out on you?!"

"That was the demon blood," Dean dismisses.

"No, it wasn't. You KNOW it wasn't." He glares at Dean, who only returns a tired look in the moonlight.

"Good talk, Sammy." He starts to stand up, but Sam bellows at him to sit back down.

"How can you possibly think we're done here?!"

"Because there's nothing else to say," Dean replies. "You were pissed at me, I get it."

"You do," Sam says, doubtful.

"You got mad at me for cramping your style. You said yourself you liked the power you had, and with me around, you couldn't use it. You resented me for that. But you were pissed at me way before that. You hated who I'd become—all broken and haunted, avoiding demons instead of going after them with both barrels…" Dean stares past his brother and looks at the ground behind him. "I wasn't your hero anymore. I wasn't even your partner. I was a soul torturer who spent all day hating his guts, and you couldn't stand it."

Sam swallows hard at the all-too-true accusations. Dean is looking at him now, daring him to dispute any of it, but Sam can't. He won't, however, give credence aloud, so he makes a counter statement instead. "You never would have broken in Hell if I'd found a way to get you out."

"But I still would have suffered," Dean says quietly. "Even if you'd brought me back five minutes after I left, I would've been in the pit a few hours. Long enough for them to tear me a new one a few hundred times over."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"NO, I'm just pointing out that there's nothing you could've done."

"That's the whole point!" Sam fumes. "There was nothing I could do to help you, Dean! NOTHING. And you wonder why I can't just let it go?" Dean shakes his head, about to deflect him again, so Sam yells, "I FAILED you! I couldn't keep you out of Hell, and I couldn't get you out, either. I will NEVER be okay with that."

"But you HAVE to deal with it," Dean slams back. "It happened. I made the deal—I did, Sam, NOT you. It was my call, my punishment."

"You never should have made that deal in the first place!"

"Well then YOU never should've been stabbed in the back!" Dean's booming voice crashes through the area, but Sam doesn't duck down, even when Dean leans down and puts his huge face up in Sam's small one. "You want to know what failure feels like? Try being five feet away when your brother gets a knife in the back. Try running up to him and only being able to hold him while he DIES in your arms. Try sitting next to his dead body on the bed and deciding that a future in Hell is better than life on Earth without him!"

As his statement echoes away to silence, Dean looks up at the moon—this is going just as badly as he'd feared. "Wow, I sure am glad we had this talk," he mutters after a long moment. "I feel SO much better now." He looks down again, but Sam isn't there. A quick glance at the scenery and he finds Sam up in a nearby tree, now roughly level with his chin. His little brother is looking at him with all kinds of emotions…sadness, gladness, understanding, bewilderment… Dean ignores all of them and plays dumb. "What, something on my face?"

Sam shakes his head no. "Dean," he says in a soft voice, "for the hundredth time, it's not your fault I got stabbed, all right?"

Dean gives a single nod. "And for the millionth time, it's not YOUR fault I went to Hell. You didn't fail me. I chose to go. Will you please accept that and get on with your life?"

Sam nods as well, and then the two look on each other for a few seconds before Sam says, "I still feel guilty."

"Me, too," Dean admits. He leans back against the barn. "Catholics got nothin' on Winchester Guilt."

Sam smirks. "So what else?"

"Hm?"

"What else about me is bothering you?"

Dean heaves a long sigh to match the look he throws Sam's way. "Knew that wasn't the end of it…"

Sam shifts his weight and dangles a leg from the tree bough as he waits for Dean to gather his thoughts. He even gives him a jumping off point: "I know trust is gonna be an issue…"

"Yeah," Dean says absently, turning his face away while he scratches his scalp. "Some of the things you said back at Bobby's…" He cuts himself off and sums up: "It's gonna take a while, y'know?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, I know. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I hurt you and broke your trust." He looks Dean in the eye as he says it, hoping his brother knows he means it. "You gotta know I never meant to hurt you…never wanted to, either, but I did…and I hate myself for it." Sam is starting to get worked up, resembling a 6'4" toddler as his chest heaves in and out, "I don't deserve your forgiveness…and I know you'll probably never trust me again, why would you…fuck!" Brushing a sleeve across his face to clear the wetness, he declares, "I ruined everything! You should've let Zachariah break my spine, I deserve it, I'm always hurting you instead of helping you and—!"

"Whoa, hey…" Dean picks up his brother and holds him in his palm at eyelevel. The little man keeps his chin down. "Sammy, look at me." He waits until the tiny eyes are upon him before he speaks three simple words: "I forgive you."

"But I don't deserve it!"

"Yes you do, and it's done. And for the record, you don't always hurt me. I mean you HAVE hurt me…let's see, you shot me twice," he holds out his thumb and index finger to count, "had me chased by a racist truck…laughed at me when I couldn't get my ghosting mojo to work right away, so, y'know, pride injuries, and yes, they do count…"

"Uh-huh. And how many times have you punched me in the face?" Sam fires back, fighting a grin.

"Hey, you deserved those. Mostly…" He smirks, and Sam kicks him in the thumb. "Ow! That almost hurt! What is it with you and kicking me lately? And don't say I deserved it."

"No, but you earned every single one, just by being you." Sam grins in triumph, sure he's won this round, but when Dean's smirk vanishes behind a frown, Sam fears he's gone too far yet again. When Dean sets him back on his perch in the tree, he knows he has. "Dean? What'd I do wrong now?"

"Nothing," Dean answers. "This time…well," he laughs, "lots of times…it's all on me." He straightens his back a few moments in a stretch before he sighs out, "I've got a lot of apologizing to do myself."

"What for?"

"For letting you down," Dean states. "For not being my best. For all of my screw-ups." He lowers his voice for the last item: "For driving you away…"

Now Sam's the one to balk. "Dean, you can't possibly—"

"What, think it's my fault? 'Course I do. You want to talk about holding a grudge…I've got the world record for longest and strongest." He allows a tiny smirk. "Everyone's got a talent, right? Mine just happens to be blaming myself for everything that goes south. Damn good at it, too. Lots of practice." He glances at Sam and notes the deep frown escorting the worry lines to his brother's forehead. "It's not gonna stop," Dean tells him. "I've just been this way for too long. I can't quit. Don't know how…not even sure I wanna find out."

Sam diverts all power to the Puppy Eyes and looks at Dean. "I wish you'd try," he says. "I mean, I can be hard on myself, but you…you actually think there's nothing good about you, like you're a Mistake, capital 'M.' But you couldn't be more wrong."

"So you're saying I'm perfect?" Dean grins, though the light doesn't reach his eyes. Sam doesn't fall for the misdirection, either, but drills his eyes into his brother's as he speaks from the heart:

"I'm saying you're Dean Winchester. And you should be happy you're you. I know I am."

Dean nods, touched. "Thanks Sammy."

Sam nods back. "You still think you're worthless though, huh…"

"You know what they say about the lives of old habits…" Dean endures a long sigh from Sam and then cuts him off before he can start a new lecture. "If it makes you feel any better, my usual…methods of dealing with all of life's crap don't work as well as they used to." That gets Dean an interested eyebrow. "Haven't for a while," he goes on. "I can't just take another one for the team, say it's all my fault, and call it a day. Things've changed…I'VE changed…and I can't…" He looks at Sam. "I won't take all the blame. Not anymore."

"That's…good?" Sam both says and asks, not sure what to make of it until he hears the full story. "When did it start?"

Dean stares at the base of the tree. "Do you remember when I told you I didn't want to go to Hell?"

Sam nods. "One of the proudest moments of my life."

"Same here. There was something I wanted and I said it out loud. Something BIG, y'know? Not just a slice of pie or a girl's phone number. Something more, something…important." Dean's eyes drift from the tree trunk to his knees. "Well, since then, I haven't been able to go back to just accepting things like I used to. Just by admitting I didn't want to lie down and let life run over me anymore…I dunno, man, it was like I planted my flag and took my stand. And now I can't go back. I want more…I've earned it. Starting with my own NyQuil."

Sam blinks and frowns. "You want cold medicine?"

Dean looks at him with a small grin and explains: "Do you remember Escanaba in '88? I got that bad flu and was down for nearly a week?"

"Yeah," Sam says, thinking back, "vaguely. I remember you making me stay away from you so I wouldn't get sick."

"But you got sick anyway cos you wouldn't listen. 'Course, you didn't have it as bad cos you got the NyQuil."

"I don't understand. If we had NyQuil, why didn't you take any?"

"Because we only had a tiny bottle of it and I knew that if you got sick, you'd need it. And I was right." He sees Sam's facing settling into a frown again and he holds up his hand. "Don't. Dad didn't know—he never did. He was always short on cash, and bitching about it would just earn me 10 extra laps, so I did what I could with what we had. It was my choice, Sam. I chose to save the medicine for you same way I chose to skip a few meals now and then to make sure you got to eat."

"And that's why you gave up an engineering internship, right?" Sam challenges, recalling what Zachariah had told him earlier. "It was all for me." Dean looks to the side, resentment in his eyes at the truth coming out. Sam in turn glares at the world with his own resentment for what Dean had to sacrifice. "You never should've had to make any of those choices," Sam growls, and to his astonishment, Dean nods in agreement.

"No shit, but it's done. I took care of you. It was my job, and I did it without complaint." Dean looks down at his big boots. "Only problem is that underneath it all, I knew there was a part of me that WANTED to complain. Why didn't anyone ever save ME any medicine? Why did Dad always check to make sure you were okay but never even asked me how I was doing? Why would the two of you fight and fight, but you both treated me like the bad guy for breaking it up?"

His voice has softened to the point of cracking, as if the thick filters Dean put up to make sure none of this stuff ever came out of his mouth are still working hard to keep the truth inside. "That part of me was dangerous, Sammy. That Dean wanted MORE. And I couldn't take care of you and Dad if I was thinking about what I wanted. So I shut it down…buried it deep. But every once in a while, I'd hear it speak up, asking the questions I was afraid to answer." He settles one knee down and readjusts how he's sitting. "Fast forward to that sewer in Geneva and our first run-in with Skippy. Ever since I got these Hydros powers, that part of me that wants more has gotten a lot stronger. I can't shut it up like I used to, and when I try to ignore it, it just shouts at me to pay attention. Sometimes it keeps me up at night—which isn't so bad, cos hey, it keeps the nightmares away, but at the same time, it's not a whole lot better. The worst was when I'd wake up and find you gone…" Dean rubs his temples just thinking about it, willing the headache away before it begins to throb.

Still sitting in the tree, Sam is dumbfounded at Dean being so open about all of this. He dearly wishes he had a calendar on hand so he could circle the date: THIS is the night that Dean finally let Sam IN. And it hurts. And it's not over yet. As curious as Sam is about what else Dean will say, he also fears what he'll hear. But he knows that if Dean is ever going to get better, he has to get out as much of this stuff as possible. Sam therefore dons his brave face and asks him, "What did it say on those nights?"

The big green eyes fall on Sam, and Dean says, plain and painful, "Why is he always leaving me behind?"

A lump the size of Pluto forms in Sam's throat, leaving him unable to answer. Not that Dean expects him to: "You know, I hated falling asleep, cos I'd be back in Hell, tortured by all my memories of what they did to me and what I did to all those souls. But waking up and finding you gone again…" He shakes his head in slow 'no's… "That was a whole different kind of torture. A living nightmare."

"I'm sorry," Sam whimpers, failing to keep the emotions out of his voice. "You have to know that I never wanted to leave you behind—"

"Yeah, you did," Dean states. "C'mon, Sam, you want me to be honest, you owe it to me to do the same. You can start by admitting that you wanted to leave."

"I didn't!"

"Sam…" Dean leans forward a bit, looking into the little face as he waits for an answer. Sam is fighting a losing battle with his waterworks, and Dean feels for him—he does. But that doesn't change his need to know. "It's okay," Dean utters. "Well, it's not o-KAY okay, but you need to say it, and I need to hear you say it."

The tears finally overwhelm Sam's defenses and spill down his face. "I wanted to leave," he admits quietly. Dean nods and looks away. "But I wished I could stay," Sam adds. "Every time. Not just since you got back from Hell, but earlier, all the way back to the night I left for Stanford. I wanted to leave…but I hated leaving YOU. Please tell me you get that."

Dean glances up, sees the sincerity in Sam's red eyes, and nods. Sam relaxes so much in his relief that he nearly tumbles out of the tree, but he grabs onto a branch at the last second and pulls his upper body back up. The first thing he spots is the palm of Dean's hand slowly retreating back to Dean's side. "You're always right there to catch me," Sam says, "and I don't think I've ever thanked you for it. I just took it for granted that you'd be there, cos you always were. Just like Zachariah said."

"Okay, time out," Dean says as he makes the T-shape gesture with his hands. "That's the second time you've mentioned that asshat's name in this conversation. You want to keep talking, fine, we'll keep talking, but only about me and you—that's it. We're not discussing a single thing Fuckariah said."

"But he was right!"

"About what? All he did was monologue about stuff we never talked about so that we'd both feel like shit. Well, mission accomplished. I feel like shit, you LOOK like shit with those red eyes and puffy cheeks, and we're right back where we started: I'm stuck as a giant, and you're stuck with me. Thank you and good night."

"I'm not stuck with you, Dean," Sam insists. "I want you to be here."

"Why? You don't even like me." Dean's right eyebrow lifts when Sam chuckles at his statement. "What? You don't! Admit it!"

"There's nothing to admit. Don't be stupid."

"So you do admit you think I'm stupid."

"I never said that."

"But you thought it."

"No I didn't!"

"You think it every day."

Sam stares at his brother a moment. "Why are you trying to pick a fight?"

"I'm not, I just want to hear the truth."

"About…?"

"What you really think of me."

Sam rolls his eyes. "What I think is that you're throwing me against the ropes cos we're getting too close to The Forbidden Zone in your head." Dean snorts and looks away again. "In fact," Sam persists, "since you didn't get all cranky until I mentioned Zachariah—"

"Don't say it!" Dean yells at the same time said name comes out.

"—it means whatever it is you don't want to talk about has something to do with what he said." Sam crosses his arms over his chest and looks smug. Dean glowers at him.

"Whatever, Sherlock. This table ain't turning, all right? If you're not man enough to tell me the truth, that's your deal, not mine."

"What was it, exactly, that hit your sore spot?" Sam presses, ignoring Dean's further attempts at deflection.

"Dammit Sam…"

"He was trying to make ME feel bad, and yeah, he did and then some, but it also made YOU feel bad…"

"I'm not some puzzle for you to figure out!"

"He was calling me out on not appreciating you," Sam recalls, ignoring his brother's annoyance because he knows he's closing in on the truth. "And then he pointed out that I kept leaving. Right, again, much as that sucks…"

"Bye Sam," Dean says, getting to his feet. "You wanna keep on ignoring me, I don't have to stay here and take it."

"No, Dean, wait! We have to figure this out! It's the key to your size problems, I know it!"

"Bullshit!" Dean yells down at him, nearly squashing Sam and the tree with his voice. "I had this problem a long time before Mr. Greasy Grin slimed his way into my life. He's a manipulator, just like Ruby, only instead of telling you what you wanna hear, he says just the right thing to piss you off. And thinking back on what he said just pisses me off even more. So enough with the analysis already: nothing he said matters!"

"Oh really? Then why are you growing?"

Dean looks down and sees the ground falling away from him; he's shot up 30 feet in three seconds. "I knew it!" Sam beams.

"Oh don't read into this," Dean whines, shrinking down to 10 feet as he talks.

"You're fluctuating! Just like back in the cave!"

Dean wraps his arms around his torso as he fights another growth spurt. "No I'm not…"

"Yes you are!" Sam points when Dean gradually grows again. The wheels in Sam's brain spin like crazy, spitting out idea after idea. "And you've done it before…back before you left, you started fluctuating after you shrank the first time."

"Yeah," Dean says through clenched teeth as he shrinks once more. "Great, Sam."

"We were fighting over you…" Sam laughs as it all becomes so obvious. "And when you got stuck it was usually after someone said something about you! Holy shit, Dean, do you know what this means?"

Dean is growing again as he groans, "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me…"

"It means I'm not the problem, Dean! YOU are!" Sam gets a deep glare for that. "I'm not saying you ARE a problem, but you think you are! It's just like you told me: you're used to blaming yourself for everything and putting everybody else first, but the Hydros in you doesn't want that! So when the two of you are at odds, you get stuck or you fluctuate!"

"And that helps me HOW, exactly?"

"Think about the pattern, Dean! Like, okay…remember those tests Meesh ran, and the helicopter? After you saw Ruby, you were in pain cos you were trying not to grow. Meesh told you to let go, so you did. And then you two had a talk, and you admitted some stuff that I know was really hard to say."

"And you eavesdropped," Dean reminds him, shrinking a little again.

Sam makes a gesture like he's pushing something aside. "Another time, stay with me on this. What happened after your talk?"

"I got pissed."

"Why?"

"Because Meesh was trying to make me feel better about myself, and I didn't want to feel better." The fluctuation stops at the statement, leaving him about 8 feet tall, but Dean doesn't notice.

"Why not?" Sam pushes.

"Because hating myself is easier than liking myself. Liking myself means putting me first."

"But you just told me you want more—that you'd like to be first for a change."

"Of course I do, but I can't! You KNOW I can't."

"WHY?"

"Because that's not the way the world works!" Dean yells, though he doesn't size shift at all. "I can't have what I want, cos then I'll just want more, but I'll get jack squat for all my trouble and that'll just make me think about everything I don't have! It's poison! So I ignore it. I push it down, walk away, use any distraction I can, until it's gone, and I can pretend I'm okay. Only I'm not okay, as every fucker out there just LOVES reminding me. Angels, demons, monsters of the week, hell, even YOU, all of ya just too happy to list off every single mistake I've made and tell me just how much I suck. Like I could ever forget… But that's my life, right? Everybody line up and kick me when I'm down, cos I am always down, buried up to my eyeballs in the mud…"

Fat tears are falling from Dean's eyes now—not his signature single drop, but a deluge, and they fly off his face as he shakes his head in raw frustration. "What about all the stuff I've done right, huh? All the lives I've saved, all the sacrifices I've made…they don't count? Why? Because I don't count?!"

"You do count," Sam swears. "Zachariah was right about one thing: I don't appreciate you like I should. I never have. I'm so sorry, Dean. I swear I'll do better." He's surprised by a look of skepticism from his brother. "You don't believe me?"

Dean gives him a frank look. "You stopped believing in ME a long time ago. I can't just snap my fingers and be great in your eyes again, same way you can't just wake up tomorrow and change your tune."

"But I can try. I can START."

"But you won't," Dean sniffs. "Why should you, right? Nothing I do will ever be enough."

Sam is tearing up again, and in a quavering voice, he says, "Dean, I promise—"

"Oh, you promise. Just like you promised you'd remember what me and Dad taught you, but I get back and you're sleeping with a demon. Or how you promised me you knew what you were doing, and that all the lying and sneaking around were perfectly acceptable and I didn't have to worry?" Dean directs his deepest, most hurtful glare at his little brother. "You promised me that you had your powers under control, and then you crushed almost every bone in my body."

"I'm sorry!" Sam cries.

"So am I," Dean says. "Maybe even more than you are. Because the thing is, Sammy, I want to trust you again. I really do. But how the hell am I supposed to do that after everything you pulled, huh? You tell ME." Both brothers wipe tears away, unable to look at one another anymore. "Now you know why I hate it when we talk," Dean mumbles at length. "It always ends with one of us a wreck."

"But I'm glad you did," Sam sniffles. He meets his brother's watery gaze and holds it as he repeats his brother's words from minutes before: "You need to say it, and I need to hear it."

Dean grunts and backs off. "Yeah, for all the good it does..."

Sam gives a weak smile. "It's already done wonders. Look." He hops down from the tree and stands in front of his brother, looking down at him. "You're back to normal."

Dean looks up and realizes he's right. "I'll be damned…" Now he looks himself over. "How the hell…?"

"Equilibrium," Sam answers. "Those two parts of you got back in balance, just like after your talk with Meesh. When you spoke up for yourself and admitted how you really felt, the hydros part of you was appeased, and just like that," he snaps his fingers, "you shrunk back down and got yourself a beer."

"Could use one now," Dean murmurs, looking around even though he knows there's no cooler of cold ones anywhere near them. Blowing out a sigh, he says, "So what, that's it? I do some yelling next time I get stuck and I'm good to go?"

"Or, there's option two: Don't get stuck again. Talk to me whenever something's bothering you instead of bottling it up and waiting for it to explode."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Great. Now my life gets to be one continuous chick-flick moment. Just what I always wanted."

"Oh please," a third voice groans, "if anything, your lives are one big sudsy soap opera." Ruby appears from behind the tree, hands in the pockets of her tight leather jacket as walks toward them. "And if you want to live through end credits, you're gonna need my help."

* * *

**A/N Additional:** I know, I hate her too. I promise she'll get what's coming to her in the next chapter. For now, please let me know what you thought of this one! I'm really worried I didn't get the Talk right, so please tell me what you thought of it. I'll truly appreciate it. Thank you!


	12. Every Underdog Has Its Day

**Measure of a Man** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Good news: this is officially the second to last chapter. Better news: the last chapter is a short one and I'm almost done with it already. Best news: I'll be posting it next week! Yes, really! Woohoo! But for now, here's the climax. I had a lot of help on this chapter, especially from Phoenixdragondreams, AlcorandMizar, Sanshal, and peacejojo—thank you all SO, SO MUCH! And thank YOU, dear reader, for reading :) Off we go!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Every Underdog Has Its Day **

No sooner have Ruby's words left her painted lips than Castiel appears, standing between her and the Winchesters. "We have no need of anything you would call help," he states. Dean smiles with pride.

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Cas."

Ruby ignores the remarks and looks at the angel with amusement. "So this is the mighty Castiel. Kinda shrimpy for an angel…"

"In my true form, I'm as tall as the Chrysler building," Castiel informs her.

"You've still got small feet. And you know what they say about men with small feet…" She smirks at the confused look on the Castiel's face. "Don't sweat it, Feathers, just ask Dean over there, he can tell you all about it."

Dean nods with a sour smile on his face. "Cute. Totally wrong, but cute." He looks at the angel and says, "Would you please smite her already?" Castiel reaches forward, but Ruby stands her ground.

"Sure, smite me, be my guest. You'll be doing Lilith a huge favor."

Castiel holds off his power a moment, while the two brothers look at each other. "You better start making sense," Dean warns, "or I'll shove my size 12s up your ass and let Cas fry up the rest."

"You need me," the demon declares, looking right at Sam. "You're not strong enough to kill Lilith and you know it."

Sam stares at her and says, all business, "I'm not killing Lilith."

"That's for sure—not with your low batteries…"

"I'm not killing her, PERIOD," Sam snaps. "And don't play dumb and ask why. You KNOW why."

"No, Sam, I don't. And this new, pissy attitude of yours? SO attractive. Can't get enough of it." She finds all three men leveling her with very long looks, so she throws back a sassy one of her own. "Fine, you wanna play games," her eyes blink black, "let's play a REAL game."

She holds her right arm out to her side as she speaks a few words of dark magic, and a second later, Tyler materializes right in her reach. Castiel's angel blade appears in his hand at once, while Dean grows to nine feet tall and Sam draws his handgun.

"Let him go," Dean demands. "Now."

She wraps her arm around the kid's shoulders instead. "I don't think so. Me and Pint Size here are gonna get to know each other a little bit." She smiles down at him, eyes still big and black. Tyler shudders at the sight.

"Dean…?"

"It's okay, Ty-guy. We won't let her hurt you." He grows to 12' and stands over them all. "Let him go, Ruby. He's got nothing to do with any of this."

"Wow, thanks, Captain Cliché. Tell me something I don't know."

They hear screeching in the distance, and Dean smiles as he replies, "Did you know that owls have some of the sharpest talons of any bird?"

"Uh, big fucking deal, I—!" Ruby screams as Hoots Junior swoops low and right into her face, talons cutting into her cheekbones. Fluffernutter lands on her head and claws into her scalp as he pulls out clumps of hair. Hissing blood rivulets form at each open wound, pouring down her face and neck.

"I took the liberty of blessing their beaks and claws with holy water," Sam smiles, and Dean praises him on his good call. They look for an opportunity to spring Tyler from Ruby's grip, but she holds him tight with one arm while swatting at the birds with the other. Then she shouts two words of dark magic, and black lightning shoots out of her head, electrocuting both owls. They land at Tyler's feet, and he cries out, reaching for them, but Ruby clamps onto his arm and holds him there.

"Relax, kid. Those birdbrains are long gone."

Tyler looks up at her black eyes and bleeding face and snarls, "You didn't hafta hurt 'em!" He reaches into his pocket, grabs the contents, and throws a fistful of salt in her face, escaping when she recoils. He runs to the owls, and Sam, gun still centered on Ruby, glances at Dean and nods at him to go, he's got this. Dean is next to Tyler in two big steps, and he kneels down, shielding the boy and the owls from further harm. But Fluffernutter and Hoots Junior are too still, their beautiful feathers now charred and in disarray. Dean gives them both a gentle nudge with his knuckle, but they don't respond.

"They're gone," Tyler sniffles, and he hugs as much of Dean as he can. Dean holds him close and rubs his back, letting a few of his own tears fall. But Castiel approaches and squats down next to Tyler, his blue eyes instantly giving hope to the crushed little boy.

"It is not their time," Castiel reassures him. "Dry your tears."

Tyler scrubs his face with his sleeve and then watches Castiel reach a hand over to both of the owls, covering their sweet faces with his palms. Seconds later, their feathers are clean again, and the big eyes blink as the owls recover. Tyler and Dean both pet the birds carefully, and the owls cheep and then rub their faces against their fingers to say they're okay. Sam has joined them by now, gun still in hand and trained on Ruby. Dean claps both Castiel and Sam on the shoulder in thanks, and he takes over the Watching the Demon Bitch duty—not that she's doing much other than wiping the blood off her face and fuming.

Sam gives their feathered friends a pet and smiles at Tyler. "How did you know about the salt?"

"When I was on your laptop, I kinda found some stuff…" Tyler blushes, but both brothers smile.

"I think we're rubbing off on him a little too much," Sam jokes to Dean.

"Yeah, well, now it's MY turn to rub him," Ruby growls, her face still pocked with open sores from where the salt landed. "I'm gonna rub him with both hands!"

Dean grimaces. "Um…ew?" Ruby steps forward, but Castiel extends his hand and throws her back with his power.

"You will leave now," the angel tells the demon, "or I will destroy you."

"Don't be so dramatic," Ruby grouses as she stands back up. "I came here to offer my help, but hey, if you want the world to end so badly, fine. I guess I'll have to kill the bitch myself." She turns to leave.

"No, wait, Ruby, you can't!" Sam calls after her.

"Duh, I know, but I have to try—"

"No, I mean, you shouldn't kill her."

She stops and looks at him over her shoulder. "Why not?" Sam bites his lip instead of answering, and she throws out her hands in a 'Well?' gesture. "Am I supposed to guess here or something?"

"Oh give me a break," Dean complains, looking to Sam, but he finds his brother lowering his gun.

"You…really don't know?" Sam asks her.

"Know WHAT?"

"That Lilith is the last seal."

Shock registers on Ruby's face as shivers roll through her petite frame. "W-what?" she replies in a small voice.

"Killing Lilith sets Lucifer free," Sam says. "That's why we can't kill her."

Ruby breaks into a slow smile. "Good one, Sam. You nearly had me." But Sam's face remains grim, and the demon's smile drops. "Shit, you're serious." Sam nods twice, and Ruby, reeling, folds her arms across her chest. "So all this time…all the training, all the work…shit, Sam, we could've…what if we'd…!" She turns to the side. "I think I'm gonna puke…"

Dean starts clapping. "Wow. That's an Emmy right there. For a second, you actually made me believe you didn't know the truth this whole time! But then I remembered, oh yeah, this is RUBY, Queen of the Snowjobs we're talking about."

"I didn't know, Dean," she snaps.

"Riiiight, just like you didn't know that demon blood was addicting, or that there was no way to keep me out of the Pit, even though you swore to Sam that you could."

"I helped Sam by giving him what he needed, and that includes telling him what he had to hear," Ruby argues. "Sam was the key to icing Lilith, and I did what I had to so I could stop the Apocalypse! Only now I find out that I nearly helped kick-start it instead. That's just…sick!"

Dean is still skeptical, but Sam isn't so sure anymore. "Ruby," he says, getting her attention, "why did you come here?"

"To talk to you. I followed you from the farmhouse and—"

"How?" Dean interrupts. Ruby points to Sam's jacket pocket, and he reaches in and produces a small hex bag.

"Tracking spell. Witch, remember?" She ignores the looks she gets from Dean and Castiel and focuses again on Sam. "Like I was saying, I followed you from the farmhouse and saw you mixing the hooch over there instead of practicing your skills. I waited until after you two had your sob fest to offer my help, but now that I know we can't kill Lilith, I guess I'll have to help you figure out a Plan B."

"Not interested," Dean snaps, "right, Sammy?" He doesn't hear the snark he'd expected, so he turns to Sam, just in time to see him tucking his gun back behind his belt. Dean rolls his head around in sheer exasperation and then shoots the glare of all glares at his little brother. "SERIOUSLY?!"

"Let's just hear her out, Dean."

"WHY? So she can lie to us again? So we can get HURT again?"

Sam, looking pretty weary himself, just shakes his head no. "I'm not saying we should trust her—"

"GOOD. At least one of your brain cells still works."

"I've got information," Ruby speaks up. "Intel on how Lilith works." Her face softens ever so slightly as she looks on them both. "Look, you can't beat her without my brains, and I can't beat her without your brawn. Can't we just be bygones already and get this done?"

Dean studies her for several moments before he turns to Castiel. "Take Tyler home, Cas. Things might get a little messy here." Tyler opens his mouth to argue, but Dean says, "Please, Tyler. For me." The boy still looks upset, but he moves over to the angel nevertheless. The owls flap their wings and land on new shoulder perches, Hoots Junior with Tyler, Fluffernutter with Castiel. They chirrup in unison.

"Our friends will accompany him and keep him safe," Castiel translates. "I'll return shortly."

They all vanish. Dean looks down and levels his deepest glower on the demon. "What part of 'we don't want your help' isn't getting through to you?"

"Sam, listen," Ruby pleads, ignoring the giant.

"I'm thinking it's the 'don't' part," Dean says, ignoring her right back.

"You know, you should be kissing my ass to get my know-how, not bitching about how eeeevil I am." She wiggles her fingers in the air to emphasize the word. "Talk about throwing away a golden opportunity, but whatever. It's your funeral, Dean. Better hope Sam doesn't get caught in the crosshairs when you go in blind…"

Dean laughs. "Oh sure, okay, go ahead, Ruby, take point! Lead us right into an ambush the moment we get there."

"You are so fucking STUPID," she groans. "WHY would I get you killed when I need your help to stop Lilith?!"

"Because you're YOU," Dean barks back, towering over her already petite form. "You're just like all the other demons out there, only looking out for yourself, and you'll stop at nothing to get what you're after. I don't know why you hate Lilith so much, and I don't care, either. I just want you GONE, comprende?"

Defiant, Ruby stands her ground and looks up into the giant face. "As much as you hate me? Multiply that by a thousand, and you'll get how much I hate Lilith. She's the one who gave me my powers as a witch when I was alive and then dragged me to Hell after a lifetime of worshipping her. She's the one who kept me as her personal slave for CENTURIES downstairs. You think Alistair was bad? He was trained by Lilith." Ruby's eyes' burn into Dean's as she asserts, "You have NO idea how bad Hell can really be."

"Cry me a river," Dean mutters. "So you got what was coming to you—so what?"

"So I want some revenge on that bitch, that's what! Even if it means putting my neck out there again by teaming up with you two. Maybe this time we can get it right so I don't end up back in the Pit, getting ripped apart by Lilith's followers." Dean doesn't move, nor does he seem swayed, so Ruby turns to Sam, who has remained quiet during the quarreling. "Is my agenda really so different from yours?" she asks him. "We both want to stop Lilith. Just let me help you so you don't get killed first."

Sam crosses his arms across his chest. "I'm not drinking demon blood, so if that's your idea of helping me—"

"Yeah, figured that one out back at the angel meet n' greet, so no demon blood it is. But you still need to face the fact that you're not strong enough to stop her."

Castiel appears again and says, "He is not required to stop Lilith. He only needs to hold her in place."

"And how is he supposed to do that when he doesn't even have the energy to pull her out of her meat in the first place?" None of them seems to believe Ruby, so she moves until she's directly in front of Sam and then holds her arms out to either side, presenting herself as a target. "Here, I'll be your practice demon. Let's see what you got."

Sam nods and holds his hand out at the ready. When Ruby gives him the go ahead, he reaches out with his mind, directing the flow of his will with his outstretched hand, just like he's done hundreds of times before. He feels his power there, but it's nowhere near as strong as it usually is; instead of a megawatt, he barely gets a volt, and when he pushes harder, the only thing that gushes is blood from his nose.

"Well that was underwhelming," Ruby chides.

Sam clenches his jaw as he tries again, but it's no use. This used to be so easy, but in seconds he's worn out while the demon remains unscathed. He looks to Ruby, who looks back with her own aggravation.

"I hate to say I told you so…"

"Then don't," Dean says. He reaches one of his big hands down for support as Sam bows forward, breathing hard. "You okay?"

Sam murmurs a "yeah" but shakes his head no, prompting Ruby to speak up again: "Face it, Sam, your mojo tank is empty. I didn't feel a thing. Not even a tickle. And if you can't even force me from this corpse, what chance do you have with Lilith?"

"The demon has a point, unfortunately," Castiel says. "If you are unable to bind Lilith for the ritual, she will escape and go back into hiding. We don't have time to track her down again."

"Especially with Zachariah still out there," Dean agrees, though he looks very reluctant to do so.

"So what do we do?" Sam asks Ruby.

"I can boost your power level so you're strong enough to keep Lilith in her place as long as you need."

"No demon blood?"

"None whatsoever."

Sam looks up at Dean, but Dean's eyes shut as he shrinks back to normal, deep in thought. Eventually, he turns to his little brother and speaks so only the two of them can hear. "It's your call, Sam. If you think we need another set of hands on this hunt, I'll back your play, but I'm not gonna decide for you. You're the one who's gotta do this, and that means you're the only one who knows if you CAN do this." He looks him in the eye. "I trust you. Just tell us where to go from here."

Sam swallows hard, both touched by Dean's faith in him and nervous at the weight of this decision. He turns away from his brother and looks to Ruby. "Will you follow Castiel's instructions to the letter?"

"Honest injun," she swears. "I just want this done."

Sam nods, mostly convinced. "Okay. But we'll be watching you, Ruby. If we even get a hint that you're double-crossing us—"

"I know, I know, it's a one-way ticket to the other side for yours truly." She looks at them all in turn. "Well? World ain't gonna save itself, y'know…"

Castiel leads everyone back around the barn and over to the picnic table. The contents in the cauldron are simmering, and he gives it a final stir and takes a long sniff of the vapors. "It's ready," he says as he breathes out.

Dean looks down at the thick, black goop with a grimace. "You sure? Kinda looks like cat vomit mixed with melted rubber."

"Smells like it, too," Sam agrees, crinkling his nose.

"It's not supposed to be pleasant," Castiel utters. In the meantime, Ruby has taken her own gander at the cauldron and looks upon the angel with a smirk.

"I'm surprised, Feathers—that's some classy spellwork." She lifts the stirrer's handle and holds up the charred remains of where its bowl used to be. "Even melted the spoon! You sure you weren't a warlock in a former life?"

"I've had no life, former or otherwise. I've always existed as an angel of the Lord."

"Fine, don't take a compliment," she mutters. The angel stops paying attention to her and gets back to work. Lifting the heavy cauldron with ease, he pours about half of it into a large Tupperware container. He notices the Winchesters grinning and frowns at them. "What do you find humorous?"

"Nothing," Sam says, waving it off, but Castiel's wondering blue gaze goes to Dean.

"It's just…all those ingredients we gathered for this super-complicated ritual, and now you're putting it into a plastic bowl like it's last night's leftovers. It's funny!"

Castiel's frown depends. "I still don't understand. I asked Mrs. Durden for a container that wouldn't spill, and she gave me this." He puts the lid on the container, and Sam and Dean both snicker.

"Better make sure it's on tight," Sam grins. When Castiel pries up the corner and they hear the familiar fart noise of the container's seal breaking, both of the brothers lose it, laughing to the point of doubling over. The bewildered angel now looks to the demon for an explanation, but she rolls her eyes.

"Never mind, it's stupid. Let's just get this show on the road. What's the plan?"

Her words bring the Winchesters out of their laughing fit, and they both clear their throats and look at Cas to show that they're ready. "Lilith is currently in St. Mary's Convent in Ilchester, Maryland," Castiel begins. "It lies directly above the portal that leads to Lucifer's cage. I will spread this mixture on the floor and speak the necessary Enochian so that we might harness the power of the portal but keep the cage itself closed. It will take several minutes to activate this gateway; I must speak the chant forty times just to gain access. Sam, you will then force Lilith out of the human she is possessing and into the portal. Once she is in its pull, I will add the blood, binding her to the trap, and speak the final words. It will then shut, leaving her imprisoned between worlds."

"Okay, so while Sammy's scooping the poop, what am I doing?" Dean asks.

"You will ensure that no one disrupts us. Once I begin the ritual, it cannot be stopped, or it won't work. Any interruption could cause the portal to close preemptively, or worse, to never open at all."

"So keep the demons off your back," Dean sums up. "Got it." He turns to Ruby. "That leaves our least-favorite witch. How exactly are you gonna put more horsepower in Sam's engine?"

She holds up a small hex bag, and Dean chortles. "A hex bag, of course! 'Cause that's not a death trap or anything…" To his surprise, Ruby hands the pouch to Castiel, who opens it to examine the contents.

"Anything evil in there?" she asks. Castiel shakes his head no.

"Azurite, Malachite…a large quartz crystal…Hexagram of Solomon amulet…" He sniffs at the bag. "Bats head root. All combine to aid in energy and to control evil."

"So we're good?" Sam asks.

"It would seem the demon is speaking the truth." Castiel looks very uncomfortable as he speaks, but Ruby is elated.

"There, see? Angel approved." She takes the hex bag from Castiel and gives it to Sam. "Put it in your back pocket so it won't fall out."

Sam glances first at the small bag, then at Dean, who looks cautious, and finally puts it in the right back pocket of his jeans. "Now what?"

"Try pulling me out again."

Extending his hand once more, Sam clears his mind and concentrates. A golden glow erupts out of Ruby's chest and soon surrounds her before it shoots into Sam, as if drawn there. At once, black smoke pours out of Ruby's mouth and swirls around Sam while the meat suit falls to the ground. Sam releases his hold on the demon and laughs in surprise. "Holy shit!" He looks at his hands in awe.

"Better?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, about 100 times better! It was just like being on the demon blood, only my head was clear. Still is." He looks at Dean with a grin. "I'm in control."

"Completely? What about your heart? Is it in the right place, or did it move to back to the Revenge At All Costs neighborhood?"

"No, I'm good, Dean, I swear. I'm all me." He lets Dean square him up for a few seconds until his brother is convinced.

"Good," Dean says at length. "Course, there's one thing that's still bothering me…" Channeling Columbo, he looks back at Ruby, who is back in the body and leaning on a tree for support. "If you could have done this for Sam whenever you wanted, why'd you put him on the demon blood in the first place?"

"Because demon blood is powerful," she rasps, sounding and looking like she might drop. "Using this booster method makes ME the copper top."

"The golden light," Sam realizes, and Ruby nods.

"I only have so much power to give. I didn't want you wasting it on low-level demons. But Lilith? You can use all the juice I've got."

Suddenly the angel is in her face, his blue eyes boring into her black ones. "You are willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, demon?"

Ruby pushes off the tree to stand up straight. "All that matters is the future. And with Lilith around, there IS no future."

The angel now looks to Sam. "And are you willing to sacrifice her?" Sam looks surprised at the question, but Castiel is very serious. "If it takes every last drop of her energy to seal Lilith's fate, will you take it without hesitation, or will your feelings for this demon interfere?"

"I don't have feelings for Ruby," Sam responds.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Cas—"

"Sam." The angel's eyes flare to an even brighter blue. "Will you kill Ruby in order to stop Lilith?"

Sam feels everyone staring at him for an answer, and for the life of him, he doesn't know why it's taking him so long to do so. "I'll do whatever it takes."

That seems to convince Castiel, and he backs off. "Very well. We will leave shortly." He goes back to the table, and Dean follows close behind.

"You don't really trust her, right?" Dean asks once they're out of earshot.

"No. But she is not lying. For now, we must hope that she has no ulterior motive." Castiel busies himself with cleaning up the table, leaving Dean alone with his doubts. He takes another look at Ruby, who is still over by the tree, talking with Sam. She glances at Dean and smirks. Dean's eyes narrow.

"It's time," Castiel announces a few minutes on. They all gather close and, a second later, find themselves in the vestibule of an old church building. Dusty candles laden with thick ropes of melted wax are mounted on cobwebbed candelabras and ornate iron work pillars, providing the only light in this long abandoned place. Most of the statues have been toppled, their marble heads smashed to pieces on the grimy floor. A gust of wind from above disturbs the tiny flames all around. Castiel notes that the angels in every stained glass window are missing their faces, the panes recently smashed by an unholy fist.

"Someone's paranoid," Sam comments, seeing the damage for himself.

"It is not paranoia," Castiel informs him, "but desecration, meant to insult my Father and all who serve Him."

"Demons giving God the middle finger," Dean sums up. "Shocker."

"So where are they?" Sam asks for them all. All eyes drift to Ruby, who frowns back.

"How should I know? Lilith is usually surrounded by bodyguards!"

"But there are none," Castiel says. "I sense seven on the grounds, but only you and Lilith in the building."

"That's good, right?" Dean suggests, but his hopeful outlook falters in exactly one second. "Oh wait—this is US we're talking about. We don't get this lucky."

"It's a trap," Sam agrees. "Has to be."

"So what, we bail?"

"We can't," Castiel and Ruby say together. The angel goes on: "The ingredients we've prepared will break down in less than one hour, and then we would have to gather them all once again."

"Giving Lilith plenty of time to disappear," Ruby finishes. She directs their attention to a hallway to her right, where flickering orange light has picked up at the other end. "C'mon. She's in there, we're right here. Let's do this."

They head into the old cloisters. Portraits of saints line the walls, all of them charred or slashed, the canvas remnants hanging down like limp fingers. The holy water decanters are all empty, save for one that is filled with what looks like…well, you don't want to know. It makes them all shudder, save for Ruby, who lets out a chuckle. They all glare at her. "What? That's funny."

"It's disrespectful and disgusting," Castiel snaps in reproach.

"Exactly! That's why it's funny!"

They hear a laugh from up ahead. Not a witchy cackle, but a shrill giggle that unnerves even Castiel. They all freeze up, expecting to be attacked, but nothing happens.

"Come on, angel, I know you're in there," Lilith calls. "Don't be shy."

"Yep, trap," Dean mutters.

Castiel leads them into the chapel. The holy sanctuary has been cleared of its pews, leaving the stone floor bare, save for telltale stains of browned blood. All of the windows are cracked, two smashed completely, allowing a biting crosswind to cut across the room, sideways flames clinging to their candlesticks.

"Hello boys and girl," Lilith coos. She stands near the altar in the back, wearing only a thin, white nightgown. "I was beginning to worry you weren't coming! May I offer you some refreshments?" She gestures to a small table, where a platter rests on top. Arranged in a circle like carrot sticks are small, severed fingers. "I picked them myself," she smiles, teeth stained with blood. Even Ruby is grossed out by that, and Lilith laughs. "Not hungry? Ah well, more for me."

"New low, bitch," Dean growls.

"Well I would've saved you some toes, but they were just too tasty!" She sees Dean go green and she sticks out her lower lip in a pout. "Aw, Dean, you're just no fun since you got out of Hell." Lilith turns to the younger Winchester. "And Sammy! Someone hasn't been taking his vitamins lately." She clicks her tongue and frowns. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you a lot more than you'll hurt me."

"You will never hurt anyone again," Castiel declares. He opens the Tupperware and tosses the contents onto the floor. The black ooze comes alive, separating into rivulets that curve into the outline of a wheel with twisted spokes. If Lilith is afraid or understands at all what Castiel is doing, she doesn't show it, clapping her hands like a little girl on her birthday and grinning at them all with those awful red teeth.

"Ooh, you came all this way to paint me a picture! Can I color it? I'll use your blood for paint."

They all ignore her and watch the angel move until he stands exactly due south of the wheel. He blinks once, and his eyes cool to a mystic blue as he begins the Enochian chant. Lilith's eyes blink white in response, and her demeanor changes from happy hostess to demon queen.

"You will not defeat me, angel." She extends her arm and holds up her hand, but nothing happens. At the same time, she feels a pressure on her chest. Sam is matching her gesture, throwing his power at her and trying to draw her out. Ruby is glowing gold just a few feet behind Sam, her power flowing into him in visible streams.

Glass breaks all around them as three demons burst through the windows from the outside. Dean already has the knife in his hand before they hit the ground. He runs forward and dispatches them with ease, spinning as he stabs one in the chest, the next in the back, and, after ducking a blow from the third, sending the blade through its throat. Four more demons pour in from the hallway at the other end of the room. They see Castiel and head for him first, so Dean grows to 10', jumps over the angel, and lands on two of the demons. The other two latch onto the giant, but Dean easily knifes them both in the back, and they fall away. The demons he's squishing under his boots now use their combined strength to throw Dean off. The moment he's airborne, both Dean and the knife shrink out of sight. The demons look around in wonderment, and then one gasps in shock as the tip of a blade comes out of its ribcage. The meatsuit drops, revealing a toddler-sized Dean on its back with a full-sized, demon-killing knife IN its back. Dean gives the remaining demon a shitfaced grin and shrug before yanking the blade free and sticking the demon in the gut. Dean moves out of the way of the dropping body and grows back to normal. He looks over at Sam, who has apparently seen most of what Dean just did, judging by the awestruck look on his face.

"I know," Dean smirks. "I'm awesome."

Then something shoots at Dean, knocking him to the floor behind Sam. Whatever it was didn't hurt, but he checks himself for bullet wounds out of habit. There are none. "The hell?" he murmurs, standing back up. Only then does he notice that he's only three inches tall. He concentrates on growing, but nothing happens. _Oh shit, not this again, _he thinks, trying once more to grow, but to no avail.

"Dean?!" Sam calls, and Dean stands back and cranes his neck to look up at his towering brother's back.

"I'm here, I'm okay. Just having some…technical difficulties…"

"Dean, something's wrong."

"What?"

"The power…" Sam lets out a pained groan mid-sentence as the energy pouring through him increases for the fourth time since he first started drawing it out of Ruby. His heart is a locomotive, pulling a barreling freight train down the length of his arm and into Lilith. He hears Dean yelling for him and he tries to answer, but the power increases again, dragging his voice into a cry. Before him, Lilith writhes as she drops to the floor. Sam can feel her weakening, but not in the way he had planned. Her energy feels as if it's melting away in his grasp.

_I'm killing her!_ Sam realizes. He concentrates to cut off the power, but it goes up instead of down, and his body starts to shake. _I can't stop_. Sam tries to pull his arm down now, but it, too, remains locked in place, a conduit of supernatural energy. _I can't stop! _He can't even look at Ruby or Dean; he has no control.

"SAM!" Dean keeps trying to grow, but only his worry expands while his body stays small. _What the fuck is going on?! _Sam calls for him again, so Dean runs around to the front so he can see his face. It's flushed red and full of sweat, and his eyes...they almost look like… _No, can't be…_ But he sees it when Sam blinks.

They're black.

"Sammy…" Dean whispers, scared out of his gourd. The veins in Sam's neck are bulging in time with his quivering body, while whole sections of his hair stand on end. Dean reaches out to comfort him but hisses as his fingertips make contact with the big boots; it feels like he just touched a live wire. "Talk to me," Dean yells up. "What's happening to you?"

Sam's eyelids blink hard, and once open, the black eyes have been replaced by the familiar blue-green hazel irises. "D-dean," Sam forces out. "Can-n't ss-ss-stop…!" Thunder claps through the skies above, and Lilith screams, her inhuman voice shattering what's left of the glass in the room. "Kill…KILLING h-her!" Sam cries as his eyes flash black again. A bloody tear slips from his eyesocket and lands at Dean's feet.

"Cas, we could use some angel-fu over here!" Dean hollers, but he gets no answer other than the steady Enochian chant that has filled the room the past few minutes. The angel is deep in his trance, and Dean remembers that he must not be interrupted. Castiel can't help them. It's all on Dean.

The shrunken hunter is in motion at once. He runs to Ruby and jumps at her pant leg, but gets bounced off the glow surrounding her body: it's encasing her in a membrane of pure energy. "Since when can you make force fields?!" Dean yells. She doesn't answer, and when Dean looks up, he finds the golden light flowing out of her is now filling with black, like ink spreading out in water. Dean doesn't wait: he turns around and tugs his jacket and shirt sleeves down over his hands. Then he launches his three-inch body at Sam's jeans. The electric current is still there, but the protection over his hands keeps them from burning, and he makes quick work of climbing up the denim-clad redwood that is his brother's leg until he reaches the right back pocket.

"If you fart right now, you'll kill me," Dean growls in warning, praying Sam hears him. He pulls the fabric layers apart and clambers inside until he finds the hex bag. Grabbing it by the top, he gives it a good tug, but the pouch is too heavy for his little form.

"…hurry!" he hears Sam choke out, and Dean gives up on the bag removal and shifts to opening it instead. His tiny hands have no trouble undoing the twine knot, and he reaches in to pull the first item out and throw it away. But instead of the crystals and whatnot that Castiel had described, he finds dried blood, tiny bones, some earth-like substance that smells like ass, and resting on top of it all, a folded scrap of paper. He props it under his arm and hauls his body back out of the pocket, hooking one boot hooked inside to keep his balance, and unfolds it to see what it is. A handwritten message is scrawled across the scrap:

_Dean—_

_Hope you packed your bags, because you're about to take off._

"What the…?"

A shadow falls over him, and he looks up into Ruby's smirk. She flicks him away, sending him through one of the broken windows and into the cold night. Grinning, she holds up her arms and sends the shield away from her body, willing it to grow and spread until it covers the inside of the chapel. It is now mostly black energy with only golden glimmers on the surface. Then she maneuvers around Sam's quaking body until she's beyond the outstretched arm and standing in front of him. His eyes track to hers, and she stands on tiptoe and kisses him hard on his trembling lips. She's all smiles as she steps back and admires him.

"Look," Ruby says, nodding over her shoulder to Lilith, who is still writhing in pain. "She'll be toast in a minute, two tops. This energy transfer deal takes longer than the direct approach with the demon blood, but hey, it still works. Especially when you use the right man for the job." She gives him a peck on the tip of the now bleeding nose and then grins at him. "This is really, FINALLY happening! I mean, I was scared for a little while there that you guys wouldn't buy the fake hex bag, but I sold it." Sam's black eyes leak more bloody tears as he glares at her, but she just shrugs. "I swapped it out the second we got here, while you were all busy taking in the scenery." She spanks his ass, hitting the hex bag still stuck in his pocket. "You really believed white magic could take down Lilith. That's just sad."

Sam's glare opens up to wide-eyed dismay. "Wuh-why?" he whispers, a single word to sum up a year of her lies.

"Because Lilith chose me," she gloats, "and because Azazel picked YOU." Sam shuts his eyes, fighting her power with all he's got, and she tells him not to bother. "You can't fight destiny, Sam. You're going to set our father free. You're our Liberator!

"D-don't…w-aaaan-t t' be!"

That just makes her roll her eyes. "Too bad, so sad. I went way above and fucking BEYOND to get us here. Now hurry up and kill her already!" She's about to up the power transfer to maximum when they hear a strange crash of noise, followed by a very familiar "Son of a bitch!" Sam's eyes look to his left and find Dean outside the window, normal size again and having just tried—and failed—to slam through the black-gold energy barrier. Ruby smiles and says, "Excuse me for a second, I need to brag…"

Dean shakes the sting off his skin and braces his shoulder for another run. When Ruby appears in the window, he lets his rage fuel his speed and lunges at the electric light. The instant his shoulder makes contact, he's thrown back again, landing hard on his ass.

"You really think I'm gonna take any chances in the final minutes?" Ruby yells out at him. "There are only two things that can get through here: me and air." She turns away from the window and rubs her hand on Sam's back. "Can't have you suffocating before you ice Lilith," she purrs. She notes Sam's black eyes are fixed back on the window instead of her, so she turns around once more. Dean is growing, his kneecaps disappearing from view as she watches on. It just makes her laugh. "Oh please. What're you gonna do, smash and bash your way in? You'll bring down the place before you get past my magic!" Dean keeps growing anyway, his boots now as big as the building. The enormous feet step away as Dean kneels down, then leans in, his huge eye zeroing in on her. Ruby still isn't impressed. "Go ahead, Dean. Show the world how much you suck."

Dean smirks. "That's the plan." He parts his giant lips and breathes in. Ruby is airborne in seconds, sucked right through the window, past the shield, and into Dean's mouth. Standing up, he snorts a snotty gob into his mouth and swishes her around in it before he ultimately spits her out on the ground. Ruby rolls onto her back, drenched in Dean's drool, and looks up at him with all of her hatred. He slams his boot down on her before she can say one last annoying word. Then Dean takes his first breath of sweet, Ruby-free air.

"Ahhhhhh," he sighs happily, rolling his shoulders and enjoying the moment. The energy shield in the chapel dissolves, so Dean shrinks down to normal and climbs through the window. Sam has collapsed on the floor, his body still shaking with shock. Running over to him, Dean pulls the stricken man into his lap.

"Sam? Hey…" He pats the blood-stained cheeks, and Sam's eyes flicker open. To Dean's great relief, they are no longer black. "You with me?"

Sam coughs and gives a weak nod. "…she…dead?"

"Yeah, used the demon knife as a cleat," Dean grins, and Sam smiles back despite his fatigue.

"Shoulda let you…" he coughs twice, "do that…long time ago."

"Well you did say I owed you a told you so, sooooo…"

Behind them, they hear a crackle: the mixture Castiel had spread on the floor has seeped into the stone and is now hardening. The lines begin to glow blue, matching the hue in the angel's eyes. "Hold that thought," Dean says. "Think you can stand up?" Sam nods but holds on to Dean for support, and they gradually get to their feet as the room glows a brighter blue all around them. Dean looks at Lilith for the first time since arriving back in the chapel and grimaces. The demon queen's eyes are shut tight and her hair is charred black on the ends and smoking. "Ugh…she looks kinda fried. Is she still alive?"

Lilith's eyes flash open. "Yes." A blast of energy shoots out of her, but Dean doubles his size and shields him and Sam with his broad back. The blast hits him dead on, making him grunt from the pain, but he remains on his feet. So Lilith shoots him with another—this one throws Dean forward and into the back corner of the room. As he slides down, a deep crack forms where his body hit, and it snakes up toward the ceiling.

"Aw crap." Dean rolls over and grows at once. Just as the crack bursts through the support arch, Dean pushes his back up and holds the ceiling in place. But the crack keeps spreading along the ceiling, forcing Dean to grow even bigger to hold more and more of the roof up. His feet are now getting close to Sam and Lilith, so he spreads his legs until he's straddling them both. The weight of the entire roof is now on him, making him crouch both to keep it in place and still fit in the room, and he puts his hands palm-flat on the ground for stability, one on either side of Castiel and the portal. He's bent so far over that the floor is upside down. Lilith defies gravity as she walks into view, looking 'down' at him with a devilish grin.

"One shot right to the heart ought to do it…" Her eyes glow white as she points her hand straight at Dean's extra large chest. Dean shuts his eyes tight and clenches his jaw, bracing himself for the pain as best he's able, but then he hears Lilith cry out instead. Opening his eyes, he finds her pinned against the altar courtesy of Sam's power. His little brother's arm is outstretched again, but Dean can tell he's struggling, and not just because Sam is on his knees.

"I got her, Dean," Sam announces in a shaky voice. He doesn't know how and, for now, doesn't question it, just focuses all his attention on keeping her in place.

At that moment, the steady hum of Castiel's Enochian chant ends with a quiet "Amen." He bows his head and steps back. The glowing lines transfer their power straight up, forming a circular barrier of blue six feet high. Then a great explosion of swirling silver light bursts into the room as the portal finally opens in the floor. It's only as wide as a manhole cover, but it's so bright that it makes Dean's eyes water when he tries to look at it.

"Now," Castiel says to Sam. "Bring her into the light."

Lilith snarls and throws her power at the angel, but Sam sends it right back, knocking her head against the altar. Sam focuses on separating the demon from the body, but she keeps slipping out of his grasp. His body is sweating and has started to tremble again, still in shock from what Ruby's spell put it through. He grits his teeth and tries once more. Lilith screams as black smoke puffs out of her nose. "NO! You can't do this!"

"Yeah you can!" Dean cheers from above. "She's on the ropes. You just gotta pull her out!"

Sam nods that he heard him and stretches both arms forward to force more of the demon to smoke out. Thunder rolls overhead as the sky fills with static. Lilith is screaming again, but it turns to chokes, then sobs, as she pukes out more and more demon smoke. Sam won't let up. His heart isn't just a drum, but an entire percussion section: all he can hear are its relentless beats and, to his strained spirit's comfort, the muffled encouragement of his brother.

"Almost there, Sammy, come on! Show those sons of bitches that this is YOUR life. You're in the driver's seat and from now on, you're making your OWN destiny!"

They hear slow, sarcastic clapping as a new, very much uninvited guest enters the room and says, "Big words, for such a little man."

"Shit, is that Zachariah?" Sam asks, not willing to risk breaking concentration to turn and see for himself.

"Of course it is," Dean replies through his teeth. "It ain't a party without a big pooper."

Zachariah just smiles, as per usual. "Consider this party officially over, gentleman. Time to get back to work." He turns just as Castiel is about to send his sword through his back and slaps his palm over the attacking angel's forehead. Castiel drops to the floor.

"What did you do?!" Dean roars, making the church shake with his booming voice. Zachariah turns his smile up to the giant.

"Oh I didn't kill him. Castiel is long overdue for some reprogramming." The smile turns into a sneer. "We can't torture him if he's dead."

"You son of a—!"

"—bitch, yes, so you've said many times. You should really try out some new insults, Dean." Zachariah steps over Castiel's body and walks toward the portal. "Clever," he comments, "using the Ritual of Adonai to open the gate between worlds." He waves his hand, but the barrier does not drop. "Too far along…no matter: just have to throw the proverbial wrench in the works." Zachariah turns to the younger Winchester and snaps his fingers, but nothing happens: all that energy Ruby had transferred into Sam has somehow shielded him from the angel's powers. Not that Zachariah's about to tell the Winchesters that…

"Drop her," he orders.

Sam keeps his eyes on Lilith but shoots back, "Don't think so!"

"That wasn't a request." Storming over, Zachariah reaches out his hand to give Sam the same knock-out business as Castiel, but Dean brings his big knee forward and smacks the angel across the room.

"Pretty sure that's only gonna work once, dude," Dean warns, keeping an eye on Zachariah as he rights himself near Dean's left hand.

Sam throws all of his remaining strength into one final push. The last of the smoke wisps out of Lilith, joining the rest in the demon queen's lap, and Sam gathers it all with his mind, willing it into a large ball. Then, out of nowhere, he feels his knees scraping along the stone floor. A quick glance down and he realizes he's sliding—or rather, being pushed by something touching his back. Dean's boot is stretching out, driving Sam forward as it goes.

_No, not stretching, _Sam works out, _growing. _He looks up at the knee towering over him and finds it growing as well. Bits of masonry pour from the ceiling as the giant's back spreads wider. Dean's massive shoulders hit the front and back walls of the chapel respectively, and the building starts to shake from the pressing stress. Sam throws his brother a frightened look but finds Dean peering down at him already, just as alarmed.

"I'm not doing that."

They hear a low laugh, and Dean looks to the floor. Zachariah is standing directly below him. His hand is placed on top of Dean's thumb.

"Two birds," Zachariah grins, "one stone."

He presses his hand to Dean's flesh and both it and the angel's meat suit flare with yellow-white light. Dean cries out as Zachariah's power burns into him, and the suited body drops as Zachariah completes his transfer into the giant. Dean roars in agony, nearly deafening Sam in the process. Parts of the back wall crumble at the noise, and the roof there slopes down, but does not break: the same shoulder and back that had pushed it to its limits before are now acting as supports. Lilith tries to take advantage of the commotion and rams her energy against Sam's will, but Sam shuts her down with a mental strike.

_Get distracted and get dead_, John Winchester speaks up from memory, and Sam nods at a blunt lesson well learned. The shaking gradually dies down around him, and quiet and blindness descend, the former from Dean's voice, the latter from the kicked-up dust and debris. "Dean!" Sam calls, and coughs, and calls again, but gets no answer. Seconds pass by as hours, until finally, the dust settles enough to allow him to see his brother.

The enormous face above him is contorted in pain.

"Dean?! What's going on? Hey!" Towing Lilith along like a smoke ball on an unseen string, he runs forward and pounds his fist on the back of Dean's hand to try and get his attention. "Can you hear me?"

The big eyes open, but Sam can tell at once that it isn't Dean looking out at him. "Dean has left the building," Zachariah says, his own deep voice overlapping with Dean's baritone. "I'm occupying the penthouse now."

"But he didn't give you his consent!" Sam argues.

"No, he didn't. Technically this kind of forceful takeover is a numero uno no-no upstairs, but you two have forced my hand. I'm just replying in kind." Using Dean's right hand, Zachariah knocks Sam to the floor and then traps him, forming a cage with the huge fingers. "Just as well, really. You want to end the world, these days you've got to do it yourself." He plucks the ball of Lilith smoke out of Sam's mental grip with Dean's free hand and sets it over the female meat suit's open mouth, where it seeps back inside in slow glugs, the matter more molasses than mist.

"There we go," Zachariah narrates, "she's weak, but she'll soon be back in her body, ready to play her part. Might take a little while, so whaddya say we play a little game while we wait, hmm?" He presses Dean's big palm down, delighting at the grunts of pain coming out of the little man underneath it. "I call this one, How Many Ribs Have to Break Before Sam Agrees to Kill Lilith?" Feeling something give in Sam's ribcage, he smirks, "That's one…"

Sam glares at him through his tears. "How'm I…urrngh!...supposed t'…kill her…if you kill me first?!"

"I'll just bring you back to life," the angel shrugs. "Disobey me, and I'll kill you again, bring you back again, and so on. As long as it takes until you get with the program, Sam. I'm in charge here. MY will be done."

At that stuck-up statement, Dean's left hand lifts up and grabs onto his right, working to pry the fingers off of Sam. Zachariah just laughs and ups the pressure, cracking two more of the ribs with ease. "You should be thanking me, Dean, not fighting me! I'm helping you exact revenge on the one person in your life who has hurt you more than anyone else: dear," he presses the palm down hard, "sweet Sammy." The left hand closes into a fist, making Zachariah roll Dean's eyes. "Oh please. Anything you do to hurt me will only hurt you, too."

_Then it's a good thing I know what's coming, _Dean thinks back, and, taking one second to brace himself, brings his fist down as hard as he can—right on his nuts. Zachariah frees Sam at once and rolls into a ball—he's never felt such pain!—leaving Dean to take back control of his body. Without the giant support beneath it, the roof splits in half and sags, so Dean, reflexes still sharp despite his legs shaking from the ache in his crotch, recovers and presses his back against it again to buttress the weight.

"Dean!" Sam yells—he doesn't ask if he's okay, because there is no time for stupid questions. Dean nods that he's still there.

"Toldja they don't have dicks," he jokes, voice quavering from the bad kind of throbbing. "No way he woulda let me do that otherwise." He winces and adds, "Can't believe I let myself do that, to be honest…"

"That makes two of us," Sam admits, grimacing in sympathy. Holding his arm over his busted ribs, he tries to stand up straight but ends up stumbling backward. Dean's face contracts with shame, but Sam waves it off. "I'll live—just cracked, not broken."

"Then stick to the plan—he's gonna—UNGH!" Dean's eyes shut as his head snaps forward, ready to burst from Zachariah's inner assault. "GO!" he barks down at Sam, not having to see him to know he's still there. Every blood vessel is throbbing with pressure, every nerve flares, and every last muscle twitches; Dean feels like a living bomb. Zachariah starts to stand up to bring the church down around them, but Dean grits his teeth and keeps his legs locked tight in their crouch. The angel switches to making Dean grow, but Dean is ready for him and retains control. _Hurry up, Sammy, before he fakes and I fumble, _he thinks to his brother, while Zachariah fights to move Dean's arms.

Sam in the meantime has lumbered over to Lilith, his ribs only letting him move so fast without stealing his breath, and he collapses to his knees at her side. The smoke left at her lips is only the size of a tennis ball, so Sam summons up his mental strength and pulls. The smoke reverses course, creeping out of the mouth even more slowly than it oozed back in. Sam tries to force it out more quickly, but his ribs are on fire, making it hard to breathe, much less concentrate.

_So take it slow, _Sam thinks in encouragement. _It's not like there's a timetable on this, right? _The blue light in the room flickers out for a moment, and his eyes go to the barrier, only to see it flicker again. The portal is weakening. _Oh shit. _Then he discovers that the smoke isn't forming a ball again like he wants—rather, it's spreading over him as a blanket of black. Sam looks up to Dean for help, but it's clear his big brother is having his own problems: his face is bright red from exertion, and a huge bead of sweat rolls off and drops down to the floor, creating a salty puddle.

"You've put up a good fight, Dean, I'll give you that," Zachariah says, his own voice again overlapping with Dean's. "But Amateur Hour's over: Time for a pro to show you how it's done."

A crack of thunder sounds out instead of Zachariah's usual finger snap, but the result is just as terrible: an invisible foot kicks Dean in the ass, making his huge amulet swing forward like a wrecking ball and slam through the altar; had Sam not ducked, he'd now be missing his head. Then Zachariah STOMPS down on Dean's back, and the resulting THUD of Dean's chin hitting the floor throws Sam and Lilith off the floor. They fall deadweight with their own, smaller thuds, Sam first, then Lilith on top of him, and he hisses as her nose digs right into the tender tissue of his busted ribs. Above them, Zachariah keeps pressing down on the giant body, but Dean rolls to his left to keep his right knee angled up just enough to prevent everyone below him from getting crushed. His elbow busts clear through the back wall, and the roof slides down the sharp angle and falls at last to ruin. A dry thunderstorm is surging in the night sky, no rain, all energy, fueled by the power play between Heaven, Hell, and the Winchesters in between. Bolts of lightning shoot out in every direction, and as one strikes a tree outside, Dean attempts to move, but that same invisible foot punts him in the stomach.

"Oh no, don't get up." Zachariah uses his will to pin Dean's head to the ground, crushing his 'foot' against Dean's neck. Dean's left cheek is pushing into the floor with so much force that it crushes the stone into dust, but he still manages to keep his butt and right side up in the air—and keep his family alive. Zachariah chuckles through their combined voices. "Now I know that can't be a comfortable position…"

To his surprise, Dean snickers right back. "S'just like a…Cincinnati Bowtie…but I'll need a hot chick under me t' show you the rest…" He gets another invisible kick to the stomach for his dirty wit, but Dean just laughs again, though he's wheezing now as well.

"Keep talking, Dean," Zachariah taunts, "cos I just love shutting you up."

"Yeah, well, better men than you have tried and failed. WAY better men."

"You think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to keep me distracted while Sam goes after Lilith? Honestly, it would be cute if it weren't so idiotic." He forces Dean's eyes to look at his little brother, still pinned by Lilith's body. "He isn't strong enough to keep Lilith where he wants her AND keep her from attacking him. He can't even push her corpse off of him, ain't that right, Sammy?" Dean reaches out to shove Lilith's body off his brother, but Zachariah makes him form a fist and pound it into the floor, jostling Sam again and making him hurt even more. "Face it, Dean, you've lost. The portal's almost closed, Castiel's down and out, and Sam's fading fast. All your little plans have failed. I suggest you cry Uncle, pronto."

"Yeah, not gonna happen," Dean grunts. "Game ain't over yet."

Zachariah brays with laughter. "Oh PLEASE! Checkmate, Bingo, and Yahtzee, my friend."

Dean smirks. "Good thing we're playing Texas Hold 'Em. And I just happen to have an ace up my sleeve."Dean pulls his left arm out from underneath his body, and his jacket sleeve pulls down as it rubs against the floor, exposing the inside of his forearm. Zachariah looks down at the bloody sigil carved into the skin. His eyes bug out in fear.

"No…" The angel runs Dean's fingers over the symbol, trying to rub it out, but receives a shock to his grace for his trouble. "NO!"

"'Fraid so," Dean grins. "Grab a straw, Chuckles, cos you really suck."

* * *

_~Flashback! Earlier tonight, just before leaving for the church and right after this…~_

Castiel busies himself with cleaning up the table, leaving Dean alone with his doubts. He takes another look at Ruby, who is still over by the tree, talking with Sam. She glances at Dean and smirks. Dean's eyes narrow.

"To quote a great movie, 'I've got a bad feeling about this.'" Dean looks to Castiel. "And it's not just the demon stuff giving me the bad juju. What about Zachariah? He knows where Lilith is—there's no way he won't be there, talking us to death."

"I fear he will try and stop us," Castiel agrees. "He may even possess you."

"He can't," Sam says as he joins the conversation. "Not unless Dean gives the okay, right?"

Castiel looks down. "Techinically, he can. Any angel can, but the rule is to get the host's consent first, so as not to harm the vessel in any way. Consent allows for a peaceful merger of soul and grace…without it, the angel is limited to what control he has in the body. My Father's rule is there for a good reason, as always."

"Somehow I think Zachariah is more about the results than rules," Dean sighs. "Great. So what do I get to look forward to?"

"He will force his way in, turning your own body against itself while your soul fights to expel his grace. It will be…quite painful."

"But Dean, you're a vessel for Michael," Sam points out, and he looks to Castiel. "Doesn't that make any difference?"

The angel cocks his head, appearing thoughtful. "It might. Dean has been molded to be the true vessel for Michael, my most powerful brother. If Zachariah possesses him, he will be going against not only God's will, but His very design. It's an insult to both my Father and Michael." His eyes light up with hope. "One that won't be without its consequences."

"Meaning?" Sam presses.

"If Dean can contain Zachariah, he should be able to overpower him. But to do that," Castiel turns to Dean, "you must grow until you are larger than his true form."

"How big are we talking here?" Dean asks.

"Chrysler Building," Sam reminds him, and Dean whistles.

"Actually, Zachariah is taller," Castiel mutters, "roughly the height of the Sears Tower." Blue eyes and hazel eyes look at Dean, waiting for his response. Dean for the most part just looks whelmed—not over, not under, just right there, faced with a literally huge task.

"Sears Tower, huh? That's what…1000 feet?"

"More like 1500," Sam murmurs.

"Okay…wowzers. So let's say I can actually get that big. What happens then? I just order him off my premises or what?"

"Your body and spirit will be able to match and overpower his," Castiel confirms. "If he fights you, he will be fighting against Michael himself, so to speak. And since Michael is more powerful…"

"Zachy's gonna get spanked, and not in the good way," Dean finishes. "So what we gotta do is stall him…make him think he's winning until I get a chance to supersize myself." He gives Castiel his patented Grin of Optimism. "Any way I can keep him locked inside until I'm ready to throw his ass out the door?

* * *

_~Back to present…~_

Whatever passes for Zachariah's heart drops as he realizes the truth: it was all an act. "You let me beat you up," he thinks out loud. "You wanted me to possess you…!"

"Ding ding ding!" Dean sits up, taking advantage of the angel's stupefaction as whatever hold he had on Dean disappears. The giant stands to his full 40-foot height and steps out and away from the building.

"You can't DO this!" Zachariah bellows.

"Yeah you can!" Sam yells up at Dean, echoing the angry call and snarky response they did with Lilith just minutes before. "I KNOW it!"

Dean gives Sam a wink and looks up at the storm clouds overhead. "Buckle up, Zachy-boy. You're about to take one helluva ride..."

The giant explodes in height. Sam only catches glimpses as the lightning strikes: first a huge knee, then, a stretching pant leg, then…_impossibly_…the top of Dean's boot—not the tall part that goes over the ankles, but the top of the TOE, now taller than the building and still growing! His colossal pecs heave under his skintight tee as he draws deeper and deeper breaths, his boots bulldoze the woods around the convent as they grow, and his back widens until, from Sam's vantage point on the ground, it blocks out the entire storm overhead. The only light now comes from the flickering portal. Sam's eyes go to it on reflex and find the blue barrier and silver opening close to winking out altogether.

"Stop staring and get back to work," he orders himself. Focusing his will and power to a fine point, he stabs at the remaining demon smoke like a harpoon through a fish, yanking it out with one big tug. It joins the black 'blanket' that now has Sam and the demon's former meat suit covered chin to toe, and he makes sure he has a good hold on it as he rolls to his side, letting gravity do the work his weakened body can't. The instant the corpse drops away, the black smoke covering Sam thickens, pushing him onto his back and then trapping his arms at his sides. Unable to possess him thanks to the demon tattoo, Lilith instead wraps around him in a shroud, using her power to cut him off from all warmth, both physical and spiritual. Sam's skin goes numb as his insides begin to freeze. He uses his voice while he still has one:

"Deus caeli, Deus terrae, humiliter majestati gloriae…"

The partial exorcism doesn't weaken Lilith in the slightest, but it does give her a jolt to the system, distracting her for exactly two seconds—just enough of an opportunity for Sam to free his arms from her grip. Rolling onto his stomach, he digs his elbows into the floor and drags his body along the ground in the direction of Castiel and the portal. "Tuae supplicamus," he gasps out as he pulls forward a second time, "ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate…"

High above, Dean stops growing. He knows he's huge, but he has no way of knowing if he's huge enough—it isn't like the Sears Tower is right there for comparison. Standing tall, he clears his throat and says, "OKAY, TOP FLOOR: EVERYBODY OUT." His deep voice breaks across the area like a tidal wave, but nothing else happens. Dean rolls his eyes. "THAT MEANS YOU, ZACH. STORE'S CLOSING. YOU DON'T HAFTA GO HOME, BUT YOU CAN'T STAY HERE." Now the wind picks up, but that's about it. Dean peers down at the blue light inside the convent, now no bigger to him than the head of a screw, and frowns. "You said I just had to grow as big as he is and give him his walking papers," he mumbles to Castiel, still lying down there, somewhere. "So what'm I doing wrong?"

_Everything_, Zachariah answers in his mind. He casts his angelic clout into every part of Dean, searching for the tiniest give in Dean's will. It burns, tears, squeezes, cutting off Dean's reserve until he feels nothing but raw Hurt. _For starters, you're about 200-feet too short_. Dean starts to expand again, but a second wave of pain cuts through him, stopping him dead. _Correction—150-feet too short, _the angel chides. _Close, but no cigar. Kinda like everything else you've ever done, huh, Deano?_

Sam's busted ribs are begging him to stop pulling them along the cold, hard floor, but he keeps going. "…laqueo, deceptione et nequitia…" Lilith wraps around him more tightly, and ice crackles into view along Sam skin, seeping out of his pores and spreading out, encasing every fine hair in crystals. "Omnis…fallaciae," Sam puffs out, hauling himself forward using both arms now—the portal is only two feet away! "…ibera nos, Domine."

Dean's right boot lifts up over the tiny church, but he refuses to let it drop. _It's no use,_ Zachariah brags in Dean's mind. _You can fight me all you want, but I'm at Master Controls_. Dean fights him anyway, throwing his weight back to put some distance between his mega body and the microscopic chapel. His foot lands hard…

_**KABOOM!**_

…but takes out the woods, not the church. Sam and Lilith are thrown forward by the earthquake, right at the portal, but they slide off to its side like a poorly-aimed putt on the green. Castiel breaks their momentum, still lying unconscious at the spot where Zachariah dropped him. Sam's ears perk as he hears a rocky _crack!_, and he turns and looks back at the portal. A fissure has formed in the floor, jutting out from the silver opening itself. Sam watches helplessly as the new fault line heads right for the blue line…and stops short by a few inches. There's still a portal—and still time. Sam reaches out to Castiel and shakes him by the sleeve of his trench coat.

"Come on, Cas, we need you." The blue light flickers out for a long moment, and Sam holds his breath until it flickers back on. He sighs in hasty relief and shakes the angel more vigorously. "We really, REALLY need you!"

Dean grits his teeth as Zachariah clamps a vice around his heart. The angel feels the pain as well, but seems to relish it, and he squeezes it again, making the mega body double over in anguish. _You know,_ he thinks to Dean, _for months I've been trying to figure out why my Father would choose you of all people to be our Champion, but now I understand. It isn't because you're the Righteous Man, or because you broke the first seal. He chose you, Dean, because at the end of the day, you're expendable. You're nothing._ He grins with Dean's lips. _And you KNOW you're nothing._

Castiel will not wake up. Sam smacks his palm on the angel's chest in frustration, only to feel something he'd forgotten about. Reaching into the trench coat's inner pocket, he removes the small container of blood still needed for the ritual.

_And it's the fact that you're Nothing that makes you so perfect, _Zachariah goes on, no longer needing to physically punish Dean; the human's heart is breaking of its own accord_. There's nothing to miss if Nothing dies. No one will care if Nothing's gone, because no one gives a damn about Nothing now!_

Gripping the blood container tight, Sam turns himself around on his belly until he's facing the portal once more. Lilith throws all of her remaining power at Sam to keep him from moving, the smoke itself marbling with light and dark as the absolute cold assaults the body beneath her. Sam's feet go numb, then his legs. Frost spreads out from his scalp until his hair is white. The burning in his chest first cools, then condenses, then burns again, sending an arctic blast down his body with every labored breath.

_You are NOTHING, Dean. Never have been, never will be. And THAT is why you will always lose, and I will always win. _

Dean nods his head a few times, and Zachariah beams, certain that Dean is about to finally admit defeat. Instead, Dean opens his bigger-than-ever mouth and booms, "YEAH, I CALL BULLSHIT."

_Excuse me?!_

"YOU COULD'VE GIVEN ME THE KNOCKOUT PUNCH ANYTIME YOU WANTED, BUT YOU DIDN'T. SURE YOU KICKED ME, GAVE ME SOME HEARTBURN, BUT ONLY COS I LET YOU: HAD TO FIND OUT WHAT KIND OF LEVERAGE I'VE GOT GOING ON HERE. TURNS OUT I BEAT THE SPREAD—BIG TIME." Dean grins, loving this. "NOW HOW ABOUT YOU MAKE LIKE A TREE AND LEAVE BEFORE I GET OUT THE CLIPPERS AND PRUNE YOUR WRINKLED ASS?"

_You dare to challenge me?_ Zachariah chuckles._ I didn't realize you were in such a hurry to die—_

"YOU CAN'T KILL ME, Dean declares. "GO AHEAD, DO YOUR WORST. I'LL EVEN WAIT." He checks his watch while he waits for Zachariah to attack him, but nothing happens—no pain, no angelic gain. Smirking, he remarks, "YUP, JUST LIKE I THOUGHT: ALL SIZZLE, NO STEAK."

Sam can barely hear the powerful voice of his brother, his senses dulled by Lilith's icy will. Only his mind remains sharp, and as the demon queen sends out one final blast, Sam grabs Castiel's hand, sending the power through him and into the angel. Castiel's grace lights up at once and fires back, drawing strength from the hallowed ground beneath him. It shoots into the shroud covering Sam, lifting it from his body until it resembles a miniature storm cloud, vibrant lines of grace crackling within as lightning bolts, and Lilith's hold on the human finally breaks. Sam draws a deep breath and looks over at Castiel just as blue eyes open and peer at the world in confusion. He finds Sam and utters, "I can't move."

"'S'alright," Sam replies in a weak whisper, his body still so very cold. "I'll…move. You…finish it." He turns back to the portal…

Zachariah throws everything he's got at Dean, but the vessel is ready for him this time: with one mental punch, Dean SLAMS down on the angel's essence and holds him still while outside, his enormous body again begins to grow. _You can't do this to me!_ Zachariah roars in Dean's mind. _I am Zachariah, Angel of Surrender, Prince of the Order of Dominations, Ruler of the Second Heaven! YOU are just Dean Winchester! You are NOTHING!_

_Yeah, I am Dean Winchester_, Dean smiles, both inside and out. _But I am definitely Something_. He blows on his mental knuckles and then brings his 'fist' into Zachariah's grace, disrupting its hold on his soul. _CAN I get a 'hell yeah? _he calls out in his mind, and his inner voice yells back_, "HELL YEAH!" _and erupts in at the self-support, Dean gazes out at the world with a very new outlook on his life—one that matters for the first time ever. The two sides of Dean that have been fighting for control for so long finally understand one other. Hydros Dean and Inner Dean join forces, and the newly united man opens his mouth…and ROARS.

The noise destroys what's left of the church building until only the floor is left. The fissure in the portal grows wider, letting more and more silver light shine through. The ground begins to quake as the portal destabilizes. Sam grips the blood container tight and, with one final, desperate pull, heaves his body past the blue barrier, taking the Lilith cloud with him. Lilith goes berserk, pulling away from Sam and the trap now so very near, but Sam doubles his hold on her.

"No escape," he tells her. "Not this time." Sam opens the container and tosses the blood onto the trap. "NOW, Cas!" The angel speaks a few words of Enochian, and the blood transforms into red energy and reaches up for Lilith. Closing as a hand over her form, it then drags her down into the silver light. The portal closes around her, and Sam rolls onto his back, exhausted but happy.

A second later, he's falling: the fissure in the floor above the portal has given way from his added weight. He swings around and grabs for the floor, but finds a hand instead: Castiel has found enough strength to move up to the blue line and get to Sam. An endless abyss of silver light shines beneath them both.

The bright light shoots up into the sky, but Dean is shooting up faster, growing not just in size, but in muscle mass. His shoulders broaden until they rip through the seams of his shirt. His pecs follow suit, tearing the tee in half as they expand and thicken with each heavy breath. His thighs stretch his jeans to bursting point as they pile on cut after cut of beef. At the same time, Zachariah's pressing presence on his soul and body shrinks, going from almighty to annoying to all-but-annihilated in seconds. And still Dean grows, blowing past 1500 feet and rocketing into the sky. It's like his hydros abilities have been waiting for this moment: boundless power is surging through him, pushing Dean from elated to euphoric as he grows and grows and grows. And he just wants more—has to have it, NEEDS to prove that he can get even bigger and stronger!

Reaching the staggering height of 3,500 feet (that's over half a mile tall, people), the colossus looks up at the clear sky above—the storm clouds only come up to his rock-hard abs now, after all, so he's got an unobstructed view of the heavens. He smiles up at Aquarius and discovers something: a new star has formed in the middle of the constellation, one that's never been there before. It seems to get bigger and brighter as he watches on. He reaches up his right hand, not entirely sure why, just that he should. The star drops from the sky and lands in his palm, the size of a pebble. In a burst of orange light, it transforms into a sword, its blade covered in fire. Dean holds it up and admires it in the moonlight; it feels so right, like he's MEANT to wield it. A strange but gentle voice whispers in his mind, and all the questions he had about expelling Zachariah are answered: he knows exactly what to do.

"**LEAVE, OR BE DESTROYED. YOUR CALL, CHUCKLES.**

His words are as thunderclaps now, too loud to be understood by Sam. Castiel hears him just fine, but his attention rests with Sam as he fights to pull the hunter free of the trap. More of the floor gives way behind Sam, and he scrabbles at the pit's walls, unable to find a foothold with his weak and still partly-frozen limbs. He looks up at Castiel and gives him a sad smile. Castiel shakes his head no once. "I am not letting go of you, Sam."

"You have to, or we'll both fall in!"

"Then we will both fall in," the angel states.

Right after his declaration, he hears another overhead, and it makes him look up in wonder. Sam follows suit, and they are both treated to a burst of bright orange above the clouds. A sizzling sound, like a fajita on a hot platter, follows, and then a rush of wind hits the ruins. It blasts both Castiel and Sam away from the portal and casts them across the room. Sam looks at Castiel, his eyes saying 'Did that just happen?!' while his mouth remains locked in an O.

Castiel doesn't get to answer: a column of fire shoots down at the portal from high above. The energy gathers in the shape of the blue circle still in the floor and drowns out the silver light of the portal. Stonework that had plummeted moments before resurrects itself and rebuilds until the floor is again intact. The line of blue glows red hot and the portal inside it seals shut at once, leaving the room in darkness. The former barrier cools to a dark grey and turns to ash, carried away by the night winds until the floor is swept clean.

The lightning storm has also died down. One last bolt flashes across the sky, lighting up the night, and Sam will never forget what he sees. It's Dean's face, seemingly as high up and as big as the moon itself, looking back down at him. But it's not the sheer size that makes it so memorable: it's the look on his face. He's smiling—a 'There, finished' kind of smile like one gives after doing something difficult but worthwhile. His eyes, so green and gigantic, are full of pride. He looks…great! Better than he has in years. Sam smiles back as the night swallows the sky again. Then a second gale blows, and Sam is knocked back into Castiel again. He'll find out later that this one was a result of Dean's rapid shrinking. The first gale…well, we'll get to that.

All this wind has kicked up the dust from the crumbled walls, and Sam coughs as he waves his hands around to clear some breathing room in this polluted space. It's no use, so he tries to get up, but his body is still so weak after being fried by Ruby and then frozen by Lilith; the torn shirt that covers him might as well be an elephant, it's so heavy. The cold breeze over his even colder body makes him shiver, sapping more strength away.

Then, suddenly, gently, warmth: a blanket of heat wraps around the younger Winchester. Sam's eyelashes, fused together in tiny icicles, only allow his lids to crack open a few millimeters, but it's enough to see Dean's huge face smiling down at him.

"I've gotcha, Sammy." The view changes to Dean's neck, as the now 50-foot giant brings his right hand, holding onto his freezing brother, up to his naked upper body for even more warmth. "Jeez, what was Lilith trying to do, turn you into the world's biggest popsicle?"

Sam lets out a small laugh. "Feel like I've been frozen in carbonite…"

"Well she should've paid more attention to the movie: Han's the one who got frozen, not Luke!"

"Who says you're Han?" Sam asks with a small smile.

Dean smirks down at his little brother. "I'm the one with the sweet ride and dashing good looks. You're the one with the freaky mind powers who's always whining about stuff. Deal with it." He gives Sam's little body a quick squeeze and then looks to Castiel. Scooping him up in his left hand, he holds him up to his eyes to give him a once over. "What about you, Cas? You okay? Wings still attached? Grace still, uh…gracing?"

"Yes, Dean, I am well," the angel mumbles back. "But I will need time before I am up to full strength again."

"You take all the time you need—we just saved the world. I think we're due some major R&R, don't you?"

Dean looks down when Castiel doesn't answer him and finds the angel asleep. "Cas?" He shakes the small body, but he doesn't stir. "Huh. Didn't know angels could sleep. Did you, Sammy?" The big greens go to his right hand now and find Sam asleep as well. Police sirens come into distant earshot, and Dean frowns at his little family. "Oh fine, leave me holding the bag…" He stands up and looks over the ruins; a chain of headlights and blue-red flashers are heading his way. Dean keeps his head low but his body big as he creeps away, headed in the opposite direction, his passengers tucked safely against his chest…

* * *

**A/N Additional: **Whoo! Take a sec to catch your breath :) Answers and detailed explanations of some of what just happened will follow in the next chapter, I promise! Keeping them in here just seemed to drag this chapter out too long, and it's already pretty damn long, so…yeah. What did you think? I can't tell you how many times I rewrote this chapter—lost count after 13, to be honest, so PLEASE let me know if you liked it, hated it, whatever. I live for feedback! Thank you so much, and I'll see ya next week with the final chapter! ::HUGS::


	13. Dawn of the Tough Guy Confessional Era

**Measure of a Man (concluded)**

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**A/N:** Well we've come to the end, my friends. I'm really sad to see this story go, but then again, I've been working on it for THREE FREAKING YEARS, so it'll also be nice to work on something else. Going to be taking some time off of fan fiction so I can work on my novel, but I'm sure I'll post the occasional one shot, whether in this 'verse or another. I just wanted to say thank you for sticking by me all this time, and for those of you who took the time to review, thank you from the top, middle, and bottom of my heart. You are the best of the best :) ::SNUGS::

Okay, enough of the mush. Let's get to some ficcage already…

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: The Dawn of the Tough Guy Confessional Era**

_Cockeysville, MD, 14 hours later…_

Sam wakes up to equal parts comfy and cozy. He yawns as he stretches, but a deep ache in his chest soon has him recoiling. To his surprise, the comfy and cozy don't seal in around him in their usual careful hold. Sam opens his eyes and finds himself in a bed instead of Dean's giant hand. He's in a hotel room—'h' out in front instead of an 'm,' he's sure, because no motel room is this big. He starts to sit up, but that same ache twinges in protest. Sam settles for stuffing two of the six pillows (_Six pillows? Seriously?_) under his back so he can at least see what's going on around him. And that's when his brother emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, talking on his cell.

"…yeah it's a done deal, Bobby. Cas said it doesn't matter if what's left of Team Apocalypse tries to open the portal, cos it's been sealed with a Seal. Sets up a…shit, what's the word…you know, two huge events that go against each other and piss off the universe, happens a lot in time travel movies…"

"Paradox," Sam whispers, and Bobby must say the same, because Dean snaps his fingers.

"Paradox! Thank you. So Lilith has to die to break the last seal and open the cage, right? But she's trapped in the same portal that leads to the cage, so she can't die, and you can't open one without the other…got a headache yet? Yeah. Anyway, gist is, Lilith's acting like super glue: Luci's staying locked up, and the portal won't open again, pretty much ever. How's that for telling Destiny to suck it?"

Dean grins, and Sam smiles. He fully expects Dean to turn and look at him, but instead, Dean stops at the mirror and checks himself out while he listens to Bobby talk. He flexes his big biceps and then turns to the side, checking out his pumped lats and tris, and that's when it hits Sam: Dean is hulked OUT. He's swapped his jeans for his old black sweats, but they're strained against his whopping, rock-hard thighs, and Sam is positive no shirt could hope to cover those guns above them. He compares Dean's height to the room but is certain his brother hasn't grown at all—well, not upward anyway, just outward with those muscles! He's about to say something when Dean replies to a question from Bobby:

"He flew off to check on Tyler, make sure no angels or demons are bothering him. He called me just before I called you to say they're fine. The owls are gonna stay there and look after him. Ty-guy wanted to make sure I wasn't mad… 'course I'm not mad! Gives me two more reasons to come visit! Hope Mama Owl doesn't try an' peck my brains out when I get back to your place, though…what? Yeah, exactly, they're grown men—owls now. Gotta move out sometime, right?" There's a pause, and Dean rolls his eyes. "So move the cars if there's owl pellets in the engines! You can't…hey, just…no, Bobby, I don't think you should shoot her for doing what comes naturally. Come on, man, you'll hate yourself in the morning…Yeah, I KNOW I'm right about this!...Good….okay, do whatever needs doing, just don't hurt any innocent owls in the process."

Sam stifles a laugh as he watches Dean nodding along with whatever Bobby is ranting about, letting him get it out until he gets a chance to change the subject. "So anyway, Cas is gonna get some downtime in and then pick us up when he's full strength ag—…NO, you don't have to drive out here, yeesh! Enjoy some quiet time with Meesh. Take a stroll. Play some croquet, I dunno…do what normal older people do…" Dean winces as Bobby barks at him through the phone. "I'm sorry, what word did you have a problem with, the 'normal' or the 'older'—" He winces again, but he's grinning as his stand-in dad tears him a new one. "Yeah, yeah, I know you miss me." He snickers at whatever Bobby says. "Okay. We'll see you soon… maybe I'll bring you a souvenir or something if you're good. Till then, we're on a Staycation in Cockeysville, Em-Dee, at least until Sam's ribs are healed."

Sam pulls the covers down a bit so he can see his chest, and he finds his torso wrapped in compression bandages. "Gotta go, Sleeping Beauty's finally awake," he hears Dean say, and when Sam looks up, Dean is smiling at him. "Yup…yep. Bye." Dean shuts off his cell phone and drops it on his bed as he walks over to his little brother. "Hey, how you feeling?"

"M'alright…how long was I out?"

"Most of the day." Sitting down next to him, Dean reaches out a hand to Sam's forehead to feel for a fever. He smells clean, and he's radiating heat; Sam assumes he must have just showered. "Good," Dean declares, leaning back again. "You were so cold last night that I was scared you were gonna get pneumonia or something. Kept you as warm as I could while I walked us here."

"Did anyone see you?"

"If you count some cows," Dean shrugs. "Most of Baltimore was asleep, but I skirted around it just to be safe. Kept going till I saw the sign for Cockeysville—seemed like the right place to stop."

"Of course it did," Sam smirks. "Did you cross out the population number on the sign and write in "Me" while you were at it?"

Dean smirks back. "Didn't have a pencil on me. But I did have my wallet, so I snuck over to this four-star, stashed you two on the roof while I was in the lobby, and got us a nice room. Figured we earned a little luxury after saving the world."

Sam breathes out a satisfied sigh. "We won," he says. "I can't believe it's over."

"Well believe it, little brother. War's not over, but that was a big victory. Once you're feeling better, we'll celebrate with some big steaks and bigger drinks. How're the ribs? Give me a number on the pain scale."

"Five," Sam admits. "Seven if I move too quickly."

"Yeah, Cas tried to heal you, but he was running on fumes." Dean checks Sam's bandages while he talks. "He nearly passed out just changing them from busted to bruised, so I told him I'd take care of the rest. He took off right after on a one-way ticket to Illinois—"

"—to check on Tyler, yeah, I heard you talking…" Sam trails off, gaping at the humongous pecs before him that block out the rest of the room, the amulet drowning in the valley between them. Dean sees Sam staring and backs away.

"Oh. You noticed, huh?"

"Yeah, Dean, kinda hard not to! Did you pig out on steroids while I was out?"

"No, this happened last night, while I was outgrowing Zachariah. I don't know how or why, but they won't go away. Seriously, I've been trying to get them to go back to normal, but they just get bigger. Gave up after I ripped through half my t-shirts."

"Have you had any other size shifts today?"

Dean shakes his head no. "All I know is that I'm stuck looking like Mr. Olympia until further notice."

"Stuck?" Sam repeats, thinking hat already on and at hard at work. "Like when you got stuck big or small?"

"I guess so, why?" Dean gets a long look from Sam and immediately gets what Sam's driving at. He dons his best glare and says a flat "No."

"Dean—"

"I'm on vacation, Sam, same as you. And vacation means I get to do what I want. And you know what I DON'T wanna do? Bear my innermost in another 'therapy session,'" he gripes, complete with quotey fingers.

"But it works!" Sam argues. "You know it does."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it…"

"No, but it DOES mean that if you want to get back to normal, you have to tell me what's going on up here," Sam taps his temple. "That's why you were checking yourself out in the mirror, right? To see if you could get used to looking like that just so you could avoid having a talk."

"Actually, I was checking myself out cos I look pretty damn awesome." Dean brings both arms up in a double bicep and grins at Sam. "Huh? Am I right or what?"

"I'm gonna go with 'what,' seeing how you're getting bigger..." Sam points Dean to look down at his own pecs, and his nose touches the top as they inflate with more muscle. The black sweats he's wearing start to split along the side seams as his thighs expand, too. Dean groans and stands up.

"This sucks out loud. Why's my body gotta go Pinocchio any time I've got something on my mind?"

"You KNOW why, Dean: cos you're not supposed to keep stuff bottled up inside you anymore. If you ask me, it's a good thing."

"And if you ask ME, it's a fucking annoying thing." The floor creaks under his heavy, muscular frame as he paces, and Dean rolls his eyes and sighs. "FINE. Let's just make it quick—like, half a chick-flick moment."

"Don't think of it like that," Sam suggests. Dean gives him an eyebrow. "Try…okay, like in war movies, there's always that scene where the soldiers have a quiet moment and just talk about stuff from their past, good and bad. And it always comes up later, when they're attacked or when one of them gets hurt. Knowing what the other one's going through doesn't make the guy who spilled his guts seem weak…it makes them all stronger." Sam's voice is quiet as he finishes up, and he glances at Dean, hoping he gets what he's saying. To his relief, Dean is right there with him, looking thoughtful instead of bewildered, and he nods back.

"So, like a…tough guy…confessional?"

"Yes! Perfect. A Tough Guy Confessional—TGC. That's what we'll call it from now on, okay? It's just a short talk between soldiers who just happen to be brothers…"

"…going over the highs and the lows before the next fight," Dean finishes, catching on. "Not bad, Sammy. I think I can work with that." Sam motions for him to go ahead, but Dean turns away instead, heading over to his bed. He sits down on the edge, bare feet flat on the floor between the beds, and he looks down at them…then up at the ceiling…then over at the mirror, twiddling his thumbs.

"Just start with the growth," Sam offers. "Tell me what happened up there with Zachariah."

"I will, I will, just…gimme a sec here. Trying to figure out where to begin…" Dean's eyes drift to his duffel, and he reaches in and pulls something out. It's a small sword with an ornate hilt, one that seems too large and fancy for such a short blade. Sam wants to ask him where he got it, but he has a feeling it's part of the story, so he keeps quiet and waits for Dean to speak. His big brother wraps his fingers around the grip and rests the blade on his thigh, staring at it a few seconds before he licks his lips and begins.

"The muscle thing didn't start right away. First I was just growing, like Cas told me to. When I thought I was big enough, I told Zachariah to leave, but he attacked me instead, made me lift my foot up and I, uh…kinda nearly stepped on you." Dean won't look at Sam as he says it, and he doesn't wait for a reaction, either, just clears his throat and moves on. "I fought back, but my head, heart, skin…everything was killing me. Zach was on an all-out assault inside my body. And then he had to start with the speechifying…"

"Again?" Sam groans.

"I KNOW. Usual crap, too, about how he was all powerful, and I was nothing, never would be, no one would miss me if I was gone, blah blah blah…" Dean shakes his head in dismissal, but Sam can't let it go so easily.

"Dean…" Sam waits until his brother looks at him, and then asks, fully worried, "Did you believe him?"

"Well, yeah, course I did…part of me always will. There's no changing that, it's just been too long…too much." Dean gives Sam a sad smile that Sam does not return. "But this time, more than anything, I wanted to show him he was wrong. I wanted to show EVERYbody that I was strong, capable, in control, you name it. So first I called him on his bluff, and then I hit him with a few punches below the belt, and THEN, when I felt him squirming, I just let go. Grew. And this power inside me…it's like a dam broke, and it just came out, surging through my veins…and I thought about what you said yesterday, how it felt when you sent a demon to Hell with your powers. It wasn't just the rush, it was…"

"Satisfaction," Sam confirms. "Like it was your right to get back at them."

Dean nods with enthusiasm. "Yeah! It put the 'awe' in awesome. And then my muscles started pumping up like crazy, and THAT felt great, and I just didn't stop…couldn't! Didn't WANT to, I just…I had to be BIG. Before I knew it I was above the clouds…" He looks down at the blade on his lap. "And this fell from the sky, right into my hand…but it looked a little different…" Holding up the weapon, Dean stares at it, concentrates, and the sword glows white-orange. The short blade lengthens and as it reaches its true size, the gleaming metal breaks into flames but does not burn. Sam's eyes grow wide, full of reverence.

"Is that…Michael's sword?" he asks, and Dean nods. "Holy shit!"

"No shit, holy shit. So there I am, holding Michael's freaking sword, and I'm thinking—"

"Uh, Dean? You might wanna power that thing down before you set off the fire alarm…"

"Oh yeah, shit. Thanks." Dean concentrates again, and the flames go out. The blade constricts back to its former, shorter length. "I think it's like Lion-O's sword from _Thundercats_: shrinks down to travel size between fights." Dean then turns the hilt to Sam. "Go on, I know you wanna touch it."

"It's a sword, Dean, not a breast," Sam snarks.

"I didn't say anything about a breast."

"You didn't have to." Sam takes the sword anyway, admiring the grip wrapped in burgundy leather with threads of purest silver and gold weaved in. His eyes travel to the blade itself and marvel at the gleaming, Heaven-forged steel, and the runes carved along the length. "What do these mean?"

"No idea. Maybe Cas can tell us later. Oh, hey, check this out." Taking the sword back, Dean then plucks one of Sam's long hairs right out of his head (and earns an "Ow!" that he pretends not to hear) and holds it right above the sharp edge of the sword. "You watching?" Sam nods, and Dean drops it. The hair touches the blade and splits in two. Sam whistles as he watches half a hair drift to the bed. "Now watch THIS." Dean smacks his palm flat on the sword's tip, even as Sam yells, "No, WAIT!" and then lifts it up for Sam to see. It's fine.

"There's no cut," Sam says. "How the hell is it sharp enough to split hairs but not cut you?!"

"No idea," Dean chuckles. "Somehow, it knows I'm me, and it won't hurt me. I told it not to hurt you, either."

Sam gives him a flat look. "You told it."

"Yeah. It's alive…I think. Maybe not alive-alive, but not dead either. Sorta semi-alive, mostly dead, like in _Princess Bride_? No…"

"Dean."

"Hm?"

"Find the chase, then cut to it."

Dean frowns, but gets on with the story. "It spoke to me, all right? When it first appeared in my hand, it said my name, and told me things, not in words, but in feelings, pictures…all in my head. And suddenly, I knew how to get rid of Zachariah. It was just, BOOM, answer. I held the sword straight up and told Zachariah to leave. He got his stupid last word in, telling me I was still gonna lose, so I yelled, "Jam it sideways, Rimjob!" Sam laughs hard, and it makes Dean grin. "You should've heard it echoing across the countryside. It was like the whole planet was telling him to fuck off." He snickers and utters a quiet "awesome" in follow up.

Sam just shakes his head, excusing his brother's antics from the universe, while smiling at him with fondness. "So what did Zachariah have to say to that?" he asks once his giggles have died down.

"Nothing," Dean boasts, setting the weapon on the bed. "The second he tried to fight back, the sword sucked him right out of my body and fried his righteous ass. At least, that's my best guess—all I know for sure is that I felt him being pulled out, and then the sword went nuclear, bursting all this power into the sky, and soon ashes were falling past my face onto the cloud below. I swear they made the shape of wings…" He pauses for a moment, still a bit in shock about what he witnessed. Sam is duly mystified as well, but then his brothers' eyes fall on him, appearing upset instead of unsure. Dean stares at him for a moment before he states, "And then I saw what Zach was talking about before I told him where to go."

The words hang in the air, Dean looking sadder every passing second, until Sam finally asks, "What was it?"

"I bent down through the clouds," Dean goes on, ignoring Sam's question, "and saw you hanging there, Cas holding on to you…"

Sam stares back at Dean. "All the way up there? HOW?! We must have been so tiny—"

"Who CARES how, Sam!" Dean snaps. "Zachariah said I was still going to lose, and then he played your words in my head. You TOLD Cas to let you go!" He lets the hurt on his face relay the "How COULD you?!" to his little brother. Sam sees it, feels it, too, but defends himself instead of apologizing.

"Look, Lilith HAD to go into that portal, and I was barely holding on anyway. She put me in this deep freeze, and I couldn't use my powers to get her off me, so I had to crawl into the trap and drag her along with me. And Cas couldn't even move, cos he was so weak, but he finished the ritual, and Lilith was pulled away, finally, but then the floor fell out from underneath me and Cas caught me somehow and then…I don't know…"

"You thought you'd sacrifice yourself," Dean sums up, sounding disgusted.

"No! I just didn't want Cas to fall in, too, so—"

"You told him to let go, so YOU'D be the only one to pay the price."

"Will you quit interrupting me?!" Sam yells. The brothers watch each other, readying words to strike blows and phrases to defend their actions. Eventually, Dean folds his arms, those biceps twitching, bulging slightly bigger, and levels Sam with a look that binds him in place.

"I didn't gank Ruby," he says in a low voice, "just to watch you let go."

"Dean…"

"I didn't outgrow Zachariah," Dean presses on, voice rising, "fight through everything he put me through, just so you could give up and let him win!" His frame starts to grow now as well, inching his head up toward the ceiling, as he stands up and towers over Sam. "So why, Sam? Why the hell did you think it was okay? Why were you so freaking ready to die?!" Sam ducks his head and mumbles something, prompting Dean to lean in. "What's that?"

"Punishment," Sam says, this time loud enough that his big brother can hear the despair in his voice. The anger drains from Dean's face and leaves him pale.

"For what?"

Hazel eyes, sparkling with shame, drift up to him. "For everything," Sam murmurs. He doesn't bother going into detail: he knows Dean remembers everything Sam's done wrong all too well, especially recent events. Dean in turn sighs, those big lungs making it sound like a gust of wind, and his body grows to ten feet tall while his muscles burst out even more. The seams on his sweat pants give up the fight and split all the way down the legs, leaving Dean with a nice pair of pull-aways, should he ever go into the male stripper business. But Dean's mood is far from jovial right now: he's brooding, hunched over, eyes on the floor.

"Yeah, that's just stupid," he says eventually.

Sam glares on reflex, though he's not sure if he's insulted or just incensed at the brush-off. "It's stupid to feel guilty about what you've done?"

"No, it's stupid to think dying is the way to make it all right. And it's double-stupid to think I'd just stand by and let it happen."

"Double-stupid?" Sam repeats with a small smirk, but Dean's on a roll.

"And it's three scoops of stupid with a dumb cherry on top to think what you did was unforgivable when you've already been forgiven!"

"Okay, okay, I get the point…"

"No, you don't," Dean huffs. Sam replies by throwing him a weak bitch face. "Hey, you wanted me to talk, so I'm talking. And I gotta tell you, man…you really freaking worry me sometimes." Sam frowns, but Dean keeps going. "I mean, I get it. I do. Me and you, we're chained to our mistakes. We drag 'em along with us wherever we go. Then there's the guilt piled up on our backs, and it just gets heavier and heavier until we're on our knees from it. And THEN we just pile on more and start crawling." Sam swallows hard and nods, no longer able to look Dean in the eye. "And the worst thing is," Dean goes on, "neither one of us is ever reaching for the fucking chain cutters. We never set the guilt down, either, give our backs a rest. I dunno if it's habit or if we're just that stupid." He gives a small laugh, but Sam only nods again. "But if we can't cut our own chains or ditch the weight…maybe we could help each other out? Find a, I don't know…a wagon or something. Pile it all in there. And then we BOTH pull it along so it isn't so damn heavy."

"Wow, Dean, metaphorical much?" Sam quips quietly.

"Shaddup. You know what I'm saying here. I just…" Dean crouches down so he can peer up into Sam's lowered gaze. "I hate seeing you buried under all of it. I want to help you, Sammy, but you gotta stop running away and hiding from me. I can't carry you if you're out of reach."

Sam looks up and away, a cynical smile on his face. "Yeah I've learned that lesson," he says. "There's no running away from anything. And if you're running toward something better…you're never gonna get there." Dean's 10-foot frame sits down next to him on the bed and waits for his brother to continue. "I keep looking for the light at the end of the tunnel," Sam mumbles. "Used to be able to see it so clearly. For a while it was getting to Stanford, and later it was finding Dad. Then it was saving all of the people like me…then it was finding a way to save you." He gives Dean a very brief smile, up, down. "But then I lost you…and then I lost…me. After everything with Ruby and Lilith…all the stuff that I did to you…I realized that the light at the end of a tunnel isn't salvation: it's a train. It's always been a train. And it's only a matter of time before it finally hits me."

Dean sighs again. "Well, you're not wrong about the train. I figured that part out a long time ago. I was always hoping that you…" Dean trails off, adrift in his sad memories, and he feels Sam's gaze on him, still waiting for his big brother to make it all better after everything they've been through. But Dean can't. Not this time. He shakes his head and starts over. "We can't stop that train," he says matter-of-factly. "But we don't have to keep throwing ourselves in front of it, either." Dean cups his huge hands around either side of Sam. "There is a way out of that tunnel. We just have to turn around and head out the other side. And if that's not fast enough, I'll grow and punch out a new exit." Sam smiles a little at that, and Dean brightens, encouraged. "Just promise me you'll stop thinking that sacrificing yourself is the only way to make things right."

Sam's eyes glue on to Dean's. "I will…if you will. I'm not walking out of that tunnel alone. If we're really in this together, then you have to stop believing I'd be better off without you. Everything Zachariah said, and Yellow Eyes and Ruby…all of them—THEY'RE the ones who were wrong, NOT you. You're not the worst, you're the best! And you're not a mistake and you're not weak, either. You're the strongest person I know, stronger than Dad and Bobby combined—you don't need all those muscles to prove it, cos I've known it my whole life!" Dean starts to look away, so Sam insists, "Dean…you're not Nothing, all right? To me…you're everything."

Both of their faces slowly twist into a grimace at the saccharine statement. "Hope I can squeeze into the bathroom, cos I'm gonna vom," Dean grunts.

Sam gives a sheepish little laugh. "Heh, yeah, sorry…it sounded a lot more manly in my head." He clears his throat. "But it's all true. You're my big brother, Dean. My hero." Dean looks at Sam though doubt-tinted glasses, but finds him beaming back in earnest.

"I just wish you'd let yourself see how awesome you really are," Sam finishes.

That brings out Dean's grin. "Did you just tell me that I really am as awesome as I say I am?"

"Only if you're admitting that I'm right and always have been," Sam smirks back.

"I plead the fifth."

"Ditto."

Dean chuckles and shrinks back to normal. To both their surprise, his overblown muscles follow suit, reducing back to Dean's pre-Hulk physique. Sam crosses his arms and smiles his best Told You So at Dean, who shakes his head no and mutters, "Now I'll never hear the end of it…" He reaches into his duffel, finds one of his three remaining t-shirts, and pulls it over his head.

"So what happened next?"

"Huh?" Dean's head pops up through the fabric. "When?"

"You heard me tell Cas to let me go, and then you saw us about to drop into the portal. What happened?"

Dean pulls the shirt down over his washboard abs and chuckles again. "What?" Sam asks him, so Dean bends down to his face and blows out a short but strong puff of air, fanning the hair on Sam's crown. "No…" Sam says, but Dean just grins. "Seriously?"

"Well what was I supposed to do? I had one second to save you, and I didn't want to grab you cos I might crush you, and I knew I couldn't shrink down fast enough, so I just Big Bad Wolfed it."

Sam remembers the gust of wind that sent him and Castiel clear of the pit, but he still can't wrap his head around it. "Dude, that was a full-on gale that hit us! No way that was just you giving half a huff and/or puff."

"Uh, did you see how big I was? Yeah. And then I had to dole out some insurance—make sure you didn't try and throw yourself into that crumbling portal anyway. So I pointed the sword at it and told it to fix it."

"And that was the column of energy," Sam grasps. "The floor came back, the portal sealed up…we were safe." His eyes go to the sword still on the bed, trying to pair up the short blade before him with the blinding burst of power from his memory. "So why's it still here? Doesn't Michael want his sword back?"

"It's mine now," Dean answers quietly. Sam looks at him and finds his brother looking coy. Dean sees Sam staring at him and his cheeks flush, freckles vanishing behind the pink.

"Dude, stop it. He said it was a gift."

"Who did?"

"Michael. After the portal closed up, I heard him in my head. He said he didn't need it anymore, and that I'd earned it." His voice gets even softer as he says, "He was grateful, Sammy. He didn't want the Apocalypse to happen any more than we did. I mean, if the shit hit the fan, he would've done what he had to do, but deep down…he hoped he wouldn't face Lucifer in the final battle." Dean looks at Sam. "He didn't want to kill his little brother."

Lumps form in both Winchester's throats, and Sam looks at the floor while Dean glances at the ceiling. "Anyway," Dean says at length, "that's how I got my trusty blade. And you are SO calling me Strider now."

"Yeah, still not gonna happen."

"You're just jealous that you don't have a cool sword like mine."

"Nope, not jealous, and you're not Strider." Sam gets a glare for that but shrugs it off. "What? You're not. You're Dean Winchester."

Dean starts at the "just" out of habit, only to realize that Sam didn't say that word. He isn't "just" Dean Winchester. He's Dean Winchester. The warm smile Sam gives him makes Dean feel even better, but, being that he's Dean Winchester, he can't admit it, so he just rolls his eyes and heads back into the bathroom.

"Well Dean Winchester is gonna mosey on down to the pool area," he calls out.

"What? No you're not! This TGC isn't done yet!"

"Oh yes it is. Vacation starts right now."

Scowling, Sam props himself up on his elbows. "But we didn't talk about my powers! What if they get out of control again? Should I even try using them or—"

"Vacation," Dean interrupts, still inside the bathroom.

"And YOUR powers, are they—"

"Vacation…"

"But—"

"Dude! VAY-CAY-SHUN!" Dean walks back into the room, now sporting a simple pair of black swim trunks with his tee. "Came with the room," he smiles. Sam is still sour-faced, so Dean lays out some reassurance. "Look, I know we've still got some issues, but it's all back-burner stuff. We'll worry about it when we get back to our regularly scheduled lives." He looks at Sam a moment, waiting for an answer, but Sam just gives half a shrug and lets that be his reply. "We will talk about it," Dean swears, "I promise. But right now, we have some time off, and I say we spend it enjoying some amenities. They have a sauna, Sammy—a SAUNA. I've never been in a sauna, and dammit, I wanna sauna!"

Sam pictures Dean surrounded by happy-to-please women in the sauna room and can't help but pout. "I hope it's all fat, hairy old men in there," he grumbles. Dean laughs quietly and grabs the keys as he heads for the door. Sam's pout follows him. "Well what am I supposed to do while you're sweating with the oldies?"

"Rest," Dean says. "Ree-lax. Watch TV, order some room service, whatever you want." He opens the door. "We're on vacation, little brother. Enjoy some peace and quiet while…ooh," he grins down at something in the hall, "I enjoy some piece of the hot brunette who just got on the elevator."

"Classy."

Dean wriggles his eyebrows and shuts the door behind him. Sam smirks and shakes his head in his typical "Oh, Dean" way. Reaching over to the phone, he clicks on the button labeled "Room Service" and waits for someone to pick up.

"Room Service, how may I help you, Mr. Winter?"

"Could I get a bowl of tomato soup, please? And a sandwich too—BLT if you have it."

"Of course, sir. Anything else I can get you this evening?"

Sam rubs at his ribs. "Some Ibuprofen would be great." His eyes land on his brother's duffel, where the top of the Ziplock bag that holds their meager supply of medicine is sticking out. He smiles, thinking back to his conversation with Dean at the barn, and adds one last item to the order…

* * *

Dean wanders back to the room a little over half an hour later, a towel around his neck and carrying his shirt in his hand. Just as he puts the key card in the slot, he hears a clanging clamor from inside the room, followed by a "NO!" Dean rushes inside and looks around for the threat, but there are no demons in the room—no angels, either, or shifters or vampires or any monster of any kind. And that would be great, except that there's also no Sam…

Shifting into sneaky mode, Dean slinks along the wall, eyes and ears on alert. He hears another moan just as he spots Sam's ski-length foot on the floor between the beds. Dean moves over and finds his brother lying on his stomach.

"Sam?"

"…ngh…yeah." Sam tries to roll over, but the new throbbing pain in his chest quashes that attempt in less than half a jiff. Dean shoves the foot of Sam's bed over a few inches and then kneels down beside him, gently sliding his hands underneath Sam's torso. Sam hisses at the touch but still allows Dean to help him off the floor.

"Easy, I gotcha. MAN you're cold again…" He's all tender orchestrations until the front of Sam's shirt comes into view—then he's all smirks. "Do we have to get you a bib or what?" Sam frowns, first at Dean, then at his BLT, now smooshed all over his stomach and crotch. Dean can't resist: "So how long have you had this eating disorder?"

The bitch face slams down on Dean, who laughs. "That's not even slightly funny," Sam fumes. "Eating disorders are very real and very serious."

"Dude, I KNOW, put the angry eyes away. It was a play on words, like in _Airplane!_" Dean gets a blank look. "What, seriously? You don't—? Urrrgh." He rubs his eyes, irritated. "_Airplane!_—when the guy talks about his drinking problem, and he throws the drink on his face. He's not an alcoholic, he just literally can't drink. Kinda like you and smooshing your sammitch: eating disorder. Drinking…prob…lem." The bitch face remains, so Dean clears his throat and moves on. "So what happened?"

"I was trying to eat, but my hands are freezing again, so it was hard to hold the sandwich. And then just opening my mouth wide enough for the sandwich made my ribs twinge, and I dropped it. Then I tried to catch it but I fell off the bed."

Dean smirks. "You sure you're not filming a scene from _Airplane III_?" Sam gives him a look that says 'Very Funny,' so Dean drops the topic but not the smirk. "All right, on your feet, Sasquatch Sam." He helps him up and then eases him back onto the bed. Telling him to lift his arms, Dean then pulls Sam's mayo-smeared shirt off and has a look at the wraps around Sam's ribs. "Looks like it didn't soak through, so that's good. What's the pain number now?"

"Five." Now Sam is on the receiving end of the glare, so he owns up, "Fine, eight. Beds are nice, but the carpeting's shit."

"Yeah, yeah. Write a note for the Complaint Box while I order you another BLT."

"It's okay, Dean, I still have soup over there," Sam points to the tray on the table, but quickly tucks his hand to his side so Dean doesn't see his shaking finger. "I'll just eat that. Have to take my ibuprofen anyway…"

"Screw that. I know I've got some of the good stuff left…" Dean goes to his duffel to dig out the medicine bag, but is surprised to find a small bottle of NyQuil tucked in that wasn't there before. He holds it out for Sam to see. "What's this?"

"What's it look like?"

"Cold and flu medicine from the good people at Vick's." Dean looks at his brother, touched that he remembered. "You got this for me?"

"It's about time someone did," Sam replies with a smile. Dean nods and then hides his feelings with humor, as per usual.

"So you bought me medicine for the cold I don't have but you couldn't order me some grub while you were at it?"

"Hey, you've got working fingers, and the phone's right there…" Sam points with his right hand, but as his arm crosses his chest, another twinge of pain hits him, and he moans. He wraps an arm over his torso, but his skin is like ice, and instead of numbing the pain, it just makes the goose bumps spread. This he can't hide—not that Dean had missed any of his earlier attempts, anyway. Dean looks from Sam to the soup to the TV, back to Sam, and then, puffing out a sigh, he starts to grow. "What are you doing?" Sam asks.

"Redecorating," Dean answers, turning away from his brother and looking at his own bed. He expands until he's about 15-feet tall and bent over so that he doesn't smash through the ceiling. Next he makes quick work of rearranging the room, taking the mattresses off his bed, picking the bed frame up and tilting it against the wall, and pulling the table over so that it's within reach. Resting the mattresses back on the floor, Dean sits down on them, throws a blanket and a few pillows over his Area, and then looks at Sam. "Well? You gonna move over here on your own or do I hafta put you there myself?"

"Where?" Dean pats his lap, and Sam gets pissy. "No way. I'm not a baby."

"Well you're about as strong as one right now, so either you sit down here and use me for support while you eat, or I shrink down and feed you the soup myself. Your choice, Sammy."

Sam hisses out a long exhale but ultimately chooses the Dean the Chair over Dean the Feeding Machine. His brother's giant hand is right there for Sam to lean on as he lowers his aching body off the bed. Then he sits there feeling awkward yet oddly comfortable (which only makes him feel more awkward): his brother's body is radiating heat again, and his flesh is firm but has just enough give to allow Sam to pretend he's resting on a sofa.

"Good?" Dean asks, and Sam nods. "Good. Soup's on in one sec." Dean lifts the tray off the table and rests it over Sam's much smaller lap. Sam steadies it so it won't spill, and as he lifts the cover off the soup bowl, Dean wraps his long left arm over his brother, holding him close but not squeezy-close. "There," he says. "Now eat while I find something for us to watch."

Sam looks up at him. "What about your food?"

"Meh, not hungry. I'm still in the post-sauna afterglow."

"Oh yeah…how'd things go with the brunette?"

"Not great. Went for a swim with her husband, so I was in the sauna alone."

"That sucks, man."

"AND they only let me stay in for 30 minutes—what a gyp! Some bullshit about dehydrating." Dean sighs as he reaches for the remote. "But it still felt good…sauna-ing is definitely for me."

"Stop using it as a verb."

"Stop harshing on my fun."

Dean clicks the TV on and flips through the hotel's options until he comes upon one of the movie channels. _Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers _has just started, and Dean grins and says "all right!" as he sets the remote down. He grabs all the remaining pillows and sets them behind his broad back, settling in for the long movie. He glances down at his brother and notes the spoon still resting next to the bowl. "Eat your soup, Sammy. Second my ass goes numb, I'm getting up, whether or not your bowl's empty."

Sam picks up the spoon and jabs his elbow into the cushion behind him, but instead of the expected grumble, the 'sofa' twinges and lets out a gasp of pain. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Dean asks back.

Sam jabs him again, but this time nothing happens. He glares, knowing his brother has his muscles tensed so he won't feel anything. He gives him an extra hard jab out of spite, and Dean responds with his own glare.

"Do you mind, Pokey Brewster? I'm trying to watch a movie here. Eat your soup already!"

Sam faces forward again, but as he watches Gandalf plummet from the bridge, he decides on a different tactic. He waits until the wizard wraps his hand around Glamdring before he scoffs, "Okay, there is no way he could fall fast enough to catch up with his sword." He smirks as Dean groans above him.

"Not this again…"

"I'm just saying the physics—"

"—don't matter because one, this is Middle Earth, and two, Gandalf is a wizard!"

"If he's a wizard, he should just stop himself in mid-air with a spell."

"He's not that kind of wizard."

"Then what kind is he?"

Keeping his left arm around his stubborn little brother, Dean leans to his right so he can look him in the face. "If you want to watch wizardy wizards, wait for Harry Potter to come on, all right? In Tolkien's world, the five wizards are more like scholars, y'know? Wise wizards, not wand-waving, zappy wizards."

"I know, and I think it's really cool how he can talk to animals and speak all the different languages, but would it kill him do to more magic?" Sam goes on, knowing he's getting to Dean by the increased heartbeat behind him. "I mean, they're always talking about how powerful he is, but he never DOES anything with that power except for one measly teleport in the first movie."

"What about breaking the bridge of Khazad-dûm?" Dean fires back. "What about wielding the secret fire stone? What about summoning lightning and killing the freaking Balrog?! What about—!" Dean does a sharp intake and leans back, right hand clutching at his heart. Sam sets the tray down on the floor next to Dean's leg and then gets to his feet. He wraps his arms around his aching torso but still manages to throw a know-it-all look at his brother.

"I knew it! You're still hurting. Admit it!"

Dean catches his breath and scowls at Sam. "Move out of the way, you're blocking the view."

"So we're back to this, huh? I have to be completely open and honest with you about how I'm doing, but if YOU'RE hurting, you get to keep secrets."

"I wasn't keeping it secret," Dean retorts. "I just…wasn't bringing it up."

"Same difference."

"No it isn't…"

"To ME it is! Dean…" Sam sees his brother still trying to watch the movie, so he turns around and switches off the TV.

"Hey! I was watching that."

"You've seen it a million times. Now tell me what's going on."

Dean starts to sigh out, only to suck the breath back in at the latest twinge of pain in his chest. He sees the worry on Sam's face and assumes Big Brother mode. "It's not that bad. I'm fine."

Sam shakes his head at him, looking cross. "Why do you do that? Why do you always say you're fine when you're not?"

"Uh, you do the same thing, dude…"

"I know, and it's stupid! Why can't we just say, 'no, I'm not fine, I feel shitty and I hate it and it really sucks'? Would it kill us to just admit it for once?" Sam huffs and turns away from Dean, expecting the usual, smartass answer. So it's a shock when Dean mutters something else entirely:

"What kills us is the worry." Dean looks plainly at Sam as he faces him again. "It's like I was saying before, all the shit we carry with us. The last thing I want to do is add worry to the pile, y'know? It's just extra weight. I don't want you dealing with how I'm feeling when I can deal with it on my own. I know it's the same way with you when it comes to me…" He glances at Sam, who eventually nods.

"I'm going to worry about you whether you tell me what's going on or not. But if you tell me, at least I'll know what we're dealing with, instead of letting my imagination make it ten times worse…"

"What 'we're' dealing with?" Dean repeats.

"Well, yeah, Dean—your pain is my pain and vice versa. It's not about burdens or, or…proving yourself. It's about support. Me and you." Sam rests his hand on one of Dean's big biceps to show said support. "So just let me help you, same way I let you help me, okay?"

Dean bites his lower lip as he thinks on it a moment. "Can we keep watching the movie?" he asks, mouth pouting but eyes hopeful, and Sam smiles.

"As long as it doesn't hurt."

"Only when you poke me in the ribs." He pats his lap again, and Sam settles back down into his makeshift armchair. "I think it's whatever Zachariah did to me…shocking my insides over and over again. My heart and lungs kinda burn. It's why I went down to the sauna: I was hoping it would take some of the ache away. But then they only let me stay in there for half an hour, so I had to get out just when it was starting to feel a little better…"

"Here." Sam taps the bowl of soup with his spoon to draw Dean's attention to it. "We'll split the soup. It's a cure-all."

"You sure? I can always get my own."

"And we can always get more. Right now I'm warm and comfy and my ribs are letting me eat, so I say we eat."

Dean smiles down at him. "Okay, Sammy. You got it. How about you eat a few bites and then I'll take a few slurps, and we'll go like that till it's done?"

"Deal." Sam takes his first spoonful of soup as Dean switches the movie back on. Frodo is with Samwise now, climbing down the side of a cliff.

"All right, it's the extended cut!" Dean beams.

"How can you tell?"

"Cos I've seen this movie a million times," he both reminds and quotes Sam. "And the elvish rope scene is in the extended cut. Don't question the master, Sammy."

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, okay, Nerd Master. Here, your turn for soup."

The big hand takes bowl from the tray and brings it to Dean's lips. As he takes a small slurp, Sam asks, "Hey, um…once we're feeling better and back to normal…"

"Whatever passes for normal in our lives," Dean jokes after he swallows the soup.

"Yeah, well do you think, sometimes, we could go back to having Big Nights?"

Dean looks down at it him in surprise. "Uh…sure! If you wanna, and it's not raining... Why?"

Sam can't help but blush. "I kinda…miss them. I sleep better when I'm in my pocket bed…don't get nightmares nearly as much. Plus you're, y'know…comfy. Better than a motel bed, anyway."

"I sleep better on those nights, too. Weird, huh?" Dean is a little red in the face himself as he looks back at the screen, and he passes the bowl back to his brother. "Sure thing, Sammy. I like you better when you're comfy, anyway. You don't bitch half as much as usual."

"Think you could puff up your pecs a little so I can get some pillows behind my neck?"

"Don't push it."

Grinning, Sam dips his spoon into the soup. As he raises it to his lips, his head and neck bob forward slightly as the pecs push out bigger. Neither of them says a word.

Neither of them has to.

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N Additional:** Now if only they'd open up like that on the show itself, right? LOL. It was SO nice to get to write some banter again! Hope you enjoyed it as well. Please let me know what you thought of it! And thank you, once again, for sticking around on this long and wild ride. ::HUGS:: to all!


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